Shuffle or Boogie
by sadistic lunatic
Summary: :: Idea Bank :: Story ideas that may never amount to anything. Read the A/N's for more explanations.
1. Kohlberg's Theory

**A/N:** So yes, I'm starting a new series. Unlike my previous ones, this will be a series of X-Men story ideas that creep into my head that I may or may not pick up. Basically, I've got ideas but I don't have the time to turn them into proper writing, so I'll keep them here in case anybody wants to pick them up.

* * *

><p>This was not how he imagined his day would turn out.<p>

He was merely making a quick grocery stop—he had underestimated how much his group, which now included five new mouths now that his… _younger self_ and the rest of _his_ group, could eat after a morning of training, and he _was_ the appointed food supplier which, in the eyes of his colleagues, apparently extended to more than just cooking said food—so the last thing he expected was for a certain redheaded girl to burst out of whatever hole she had been hiding in and block his path.

Scott's first instinct was to prepare for the girl to hit him with his own optic blasts _again_. She looked cold, disgruntled _and _disheveled, and from past experience, that almost always meant the girl would jack the abilities of whoever was around her _and then_ use it to pummel them.

It only took him a moment to realize that this girl wanted something else from him, and Scott could only groan inwardly.

And really, what prompted her to make as outrageous a suggestion as to _join_ him? He had thought that the Avengers or, at least, Nathan were making sure she lived the life of normalcy she had always begged for.

…How the hell did the girl find him, anyway? Maybe his foolproof plan to live in the last place people expected him to be was more fool and less proof than he originally thought but, knowing this girl, her method likely included either hijacked powers and/or time-travel of whatever sort.

But he digressed.

"You know," Scott finally began, breaking the awkward silence that followed her unusual _and _abrupt demand. The girl had her arms folded as she continued blocking his path, but he could tell that the quiet had only robbed the girl of her composure. "It says a lot to a guy when the girl you swore to protect would rather trust a man that promised _and_ attempted to kill her. Twice."

To her credit, the girl did not flinch. All her pent up frustration _did_ ignite her eyes and, more predictably, her temper.

"I was a stupid kid under a lot of stress!" Hope Summers exclaimed rather than explained.

The girl was wearing that green bodysuit that he had honestly thought she had already buried in her closet, never to be worn again.

Weird. The paradise of normalcy she envisioned must not have been all it was cracked up to be if she still clung to her past.

_Silly girl._

"Oh, I know." He waved off her exclamation aloofly.

"If you do, then why do you still not trust me?" She accused him with arms folded and a glare that demanded an answer.

"Because you're _still _a stupid kid." And Scott told this to her as nicely as humanly possible.

"I've changed!" Hope flailed before him, inwardly wracking her mind for a way to convince her once-leader and… friend, confidant, and mentor. "Give me a chance!"

"I don't have any more to spare." Scott explained patiently. "I've already given you plenty."

"That was before! This is now! Let me prove to you that I'm different—that I've grown up!"

"No. The fact that you're acting like this already tells me you haven't."

Hope deflated under such pointed a reminder, but she would _not_ let it stop her.

"…You're really petty, you know? Hating on a teenage girl."

Scott wasn't fazed by the girl's obvious attempt to make him feel miserable. Really, he wondered if even a dictionary could teach this girl subtlety. This girl had always bid her self-perceived maturity to gain more independence, so why was she retreating to the reality of her situation now? Scott supposed that was yet another pleasure only a child could indulge in.

"Hate? You're still as conceited as ever." The older Summers casually admonished her with a patient shake of his head. "I don't hate you. _I just don't care about you_."

Hope's heart thundered at Scott's sincere admission. There was nothing in his voice but truth, and it cut her more deeply than should be possible. Whoever said that words could never hurt a person clearly never met Scott Summers at his harshest.

"Whatever you do to try and convince me, it'll be a wasted effort. A waste of time." Scott gave the girl a firm smile. "Give up and walk away."

"That's not fair, Scott!" Hope snapped. How could he even spout such utter nonsense after all the two of them had been through! "So what—just because I finished my task as your Messiah, you're gonna throw me away?"

Scott shrugged carelessly.

"If that's the way you see it, then yes." His answer threw off her momentum once more, leaving her feeling more frustrated than when she began. "_You're_ going to live your own life. _I'm_ going to live mine."

"I _need_ you, Scott!" She pleaded him desperately. Why couldn't he understand? "You're—you're my fam-"

"_No_." Scott cut the girl off succinctly. He didn't want the girl to get the idea in her head—it would only give her falsities to use as a crutch, and falsities never were made of the sturdiest material. "My son did adopt you, but that doesn't make you and I family. Not in bonds, and definitely not in blood." A tired sigh left his lips and he wondered how much time this unplanned encounter wasted. Glancing at his watch—an action that, unknown to him, made the girl's heart thunder harder with panic—Scott repeated with a tight smile. "Just _leave_, Hope. You shouldn't even care about this."

His words were meant to aggravate the girl more—to get her to storm off as she normally did. The girl, apparently, still had the capability to surprise him.

"The fact that-" Hope drew a sharp breath as she struggled to bottle her raging emotions before she could lash out another thing she would painfully regret. "_The fact_ that you're saying all the right words to hurt me- to _crush_ me, tells me you've given this a lot of thought."

Her eyes watered but never spilled. Scott's words hurt, yes, and _god_ was he aggravating, but Hope knew that if they were to move past this- if _she _wanted to move past this, then she would have to get hurt. It was simple real-world physics: movement begets friction, and friction begets pain.

Fortunately, if she was one thing, she was Hope _fucking_ Summers. She stubbornly survived into adolescence amidst adversity, so she _would_ withstand her jerk-of-a-grandfather's scathing language.

"It tells me you gave _me_ a lot of thought." Hope declared, feeling more confident than she had ever been during their conversation. "It tells me… it tells me that _you still care about me_."

"Don't twist my words into your delusions." Scott told the girl with a small frown. "That's the only warning you'll get from me. _Leave_."

"_No_." She stared at him defiantly. "You're right. I'll live my life and you'll live yours—but I'll live my life parallel to yours."

"You're reaching." He pointed out the dangerous tendency.

"I don't care—and neither should you!" As if to punctuate, she thrust her finger up at his face. A smirk plastered itself on her lips, and she threw his words back at him mockingly. "After all, _you _don't care about me, right?"

"Alright." The swiftness and neutrality of his response nearly threw her off her exhilarated mood. Scott calmly walked past her as he continued his way back to the rendezvous point; by his estimate, Illyana should already be there waiting. "Don't get your hopes up."

Hope quickly invited herself to Scott's company with a wide and triumphant grin etching itself on her face as she fell into step.

"That's the _second_ warning you've given me."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Basically, a post-AvX idea for Scott and Hope's reunion. I've drawn my apathetic Scott from _Distant World_ in contrast to current canon Scott, who actually still cares about that brat for whatever reason. The premise of this story would be Hope taking a good look at herself and realizing how much of a selfish brat she was to everyone around her; always using her childhood as an excuse to act the way she acts.

The story would have Hope developing through _Kohlberg's Stages of Moral Development_, with Scott, a man that sees all the angles to everything he sees, as her compass. The story would chronicle their adventures, both comedic and meaningful, and its ending will depend entirely up to the writer.

Personally, with the animosity I currently have against that red-haired brat, I'd end it, after all of Hope's development, with her death and Scott saying "told you so" as he walks away completely normal, grabbing a cup of coffee while reading the morning paper. But, that's me as I type this.

If any of you noticed, I always typed "this girl" whenever Scott refers to Hope non-verbally. It could be used as a technique to show how Scott's opinion of Hope changes.


	2. Leader of the Band

**_A/N:_** I feel a weird sense of satisfaction knowing that for all of BMBullshit's talk of sexism in the comic book industry, he whores-out Laura Kinney to market his professional comedy fanfic, ANXM. Lulz.

I probably never will respect or be impressed by his writing, but I do respect him as an entrepreneur and businessman.

I do hope the Cyclops solo will be a success, since it will likely be my last anchor to the Marvel-verse with how current storylines seem to just kill mine interests in the X-Men, rather than keep.

Anyway.

This is a simple idea that I couldn't get down to finish writing until now for lack of inspiration.

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><p>Leader of the Band<p>

* * *

><p>They were at it again.<p>

The time-displaced Jean Grey trembled with a rage she struggled to contain.

How easy would it be to rip those two apart with her newfound telekinesis? How easy would it be to plant mistrust and mutual disgust in their minds with her telepathy? How easy would it be to simply walk between them, take Scott's hand, and mock that little monster that whatever she might think, Scott will _always_ return to her.

They were destined to be together.

But that scared her.

It scared her, because a life with Scott meant her death. The young Jean Grey had seen it all through the memories she had pilfered in the school named after herself—the school that _knew _how her story would end and, rather than help her, nearly _threw_ her down that road. All the highs and lows, the exhilarations and frustrations, were shovels that dug a deep hole to rest her body in.

Death was what awaited her if she chose to love Scott Summers…

…and death, again, awaited her if she chose otherwise.

This time, her death was less noble and more an inferno that raged against herself and her misfortune. The future she glimpsed from the woman Xorn was anything but pleasant; it was filled with less exhilarating highs and much more frustrating lows that now left the young Jean Grey desperate and even more confused.

She had hoped—the young Jean Grey desperately hoped that sacrificing the budding love she felt for her stoic but sweet teammate would prove enough to buy her life. It crushed her how mercilessly bad that gambled paid.

And now, here, in the present, Scott's arms were around another girl—a monster in human flesh, a time-bomb with green doe eyes.

Laura Kinney was attracted to the kindness in Scott Summers—a warm passion that soothed her lonely heart.

It grieved Jean Grey to _know_ that Scott Summers was attracted to the green-eyed monster just the same.

-0-0-0-

"Don't get close to her."

Scott turned around in surprise when Jean stepped out of the shadows. He had just returned from another cathartic Danger Room session with their newest teammate, and the last thing he expected was an ambush.

"What?"

"Don't play clueless with me." Jean's eyes narrowed and she pointed a finger at her temple. "I'm a telepath."

"And I didn't forget." Scott folded his arms, eyes rolling beneath the glare of his visor. Still, with a sigh, the young Scott Summers let the sliver of apprehension he felt at Jean's sudden appearance wash away from him. "It's good to see you."

"Don't change the subject." Jean whispered hotly even as her heart twisted upon itself. She had ignored him longer than he evaded her, so she didn't need any telepathy to understand how surprised he must have felt that she sought him out. Surprise or no, however, there was still a warning that she needed to give; it was her duty as his… friend.

"Don't get too close to X-23, Scott." Jean cautioned and inwardly flinched when she saw his jaw tighten.

"She has a name." He reminded her sternly. "_Laura Kinney_."

She had rehearsed her words in her head and she knew what it sounded like, but _he needed to know_. "That girl—that girl's done a lot of horrible things and she's—she's not completely in control of herself." She refused to avert her gaze even as his unreadable stare bore into her. _She used to be so good at reading him without her telepathy… but now?_ "I don't want you to get hurt."

That wasn't quite right. She didn't want him to change, is what she wanted to say, to truly say.

But she dared not say it—dare not even think of it for that would tempt her telepathy to betray her. To do so was to admit that she needed Scott...and Jean couldn't admit such a notion. To need him was also a death sentence, right?

Scott exhaled, his countenance softening as if his tension left with his breath. A warmer, firmer smile replaced the unreadable stare on his face.

He mustered all his sincerity and conviction and promised her in the gentlest tone she had ever heard.

"_And I won't_."

Jean's breath quietly hitched. Scott had likewise been able to read her to an extent… _but now_?

"Laura needs help." Scott continued, unaware that by doing so he had answered Jean's hopeful musing.

The answer left her inwardly distraught and she _nearly_ choked. Outwardly, Jean Grey remained hard as steel. "She _doesn't_."

"She does." Scott countered and crossed his arms again. He wouldn't budge on this point. "You remember how we found her? And what came after?" His lips curled into a contemplative frown. "I know you read her mind. Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're-!" Jean's chest tightened; for all the monster that Laura Kinney was, she was not an evil…_girl_. A tormented mutant was what the emerald eyed clone was. "You're not completely right." She reluctantly admitted.

Scott nodded his head. "That's good enough for me."

That sense of certainty reignited her fire.

"It doesn't have to be you! There's- there's Hank, there's Warren, even Bobby!"

"They were afraid of her."

"They're not. _Now._" She added quickly when his mouth opened, and in a quieter whisper, "It doesn't have to be you."

"Why?"

"Because-!"

Jean Grey abruptly stopped.

She turned.

She walked away.

She paused by the large computer monitor, and turned towards the unmoving boy, and finally back to the monitor that stared back at her.

Jean recalled something about how it was configured to be untraceable.

She knew this was wrong. She knew that some secrets, no matter how accessible, should still be kept.

However…

_This is for Scott… right?_

Throwing caution to the wind, she turned it on. For a few seconds, Scott watched silently as Jean typed on the computer, navigating towards a page called _YouTube_ that Scott recalled shared a lot of videos.

"This is X-23." Jean said, her tone low and ominous to Scott's ears. "This is Laura Kinney. _No_," She shook her head and turned her resolute green eyes towards the stunned Scott. "This is only a fraction of what she's capable of—of what she has done."

Her lips drew a line.

"_Now you know_."

With that, Jean Grey walked away, feeling not even an ounce of satisfaction as Scott wordlessly watched all of _Murder World_ and X-23's rampage.

Even as she told herself that this was for Scott's own good, Jean was not delusional enough to believe that. She knew the truth, after all.

It was she that was the green-eyed monster, too.

-0-0-0-

She pushed him away when he needed her the most. She pushed him away and left him stranded amidst the glares and whispers of the present, and he had only in himself, not even his counterpart, to turn to.

Was it truly any wonder that he had listened to Mystique? Was it truly any wonder that he had reached out to a soul as lonely as he?

The greatest wonder, truly, was that he hadn't run away from it all.

-0-0-0-

They were at it again.

Jean Grey's eyes narrowed as Scott and X-23 slowly disappeared into the snow-covered forest. Frustration filled the time-displaced redhead.

Scott still accepted X-23 as part of their team. Distantly, Jean should have expected such a reaction for it was as much his heart as it was his steadfast loyalty that captivated her, but all she could feel was frustration.

Why couldn't events play out as she had planned?

Why was it that the world spun opposite to what she wanted?

Why was everything so very _unfair_?

Jean wanted to lash out. She wanted to _scream_—but couldn't.

Confusion paralyzed her.

What was it that she wanted?

A future with Scott, while happy, was an absolute death sentence.

A future by herself was one of torment _and_ a death sentence.

There had to be a third option. There just _had_ to be an option where she lived.

But, was such a future worth sacrificing all that she loved?

Just how much longer did she need to harden her heart?

Just how much more did she need to throw away?

With emerald eyes glistening with unshed tears, Jean Grey turned away and stiffly walked back into their base.

She had never felt so unbearably cold in her life.

-0-0-0-

It thrilled her to know that Scott would even stare down beings that could effortlessly crush him for her sake.

Jean Grey had seen the power that the Shi'Ar Imperial Guard wielded and, hard as she would fight, unprecedented her newfound powers may be, she _knew_ she was too inexperienced to defeat Gladiator if the battle drew out further.

A Strontian's strength stemmed from his belief and Kallark believed nothing more than the need to kill her. It was an emotion that could not even be described by any degree of hate—and it scared her.

But not Scott.

Scott stood up for her sake and threatened to kill Kallark if he so much as _thought_ about harming her again.

It made her feel special to him again.

It made her happy.

Ever since her abrupt kidnapping, Jean had thought long and hard about the choices she made and the paths she could choose from. In all of them though, she realized that she _needed_ Scott.

Jean didn't know if she and Scott could ever become lovers, but Jean _knew_ that she needed Scott's stubbornness—his unyielding will and unbreakable determination—to see her through.

Which was why she was crushed by his sudden declaration.

"What?"

"You and I, Jean…" Scott continued, a pained but somehow confident smile lightly tugging his lips. "We both know we don't live happily together. Maybe, this way—with us taking our separate ways—we finally get to be happy."

"_That's not true_." Jean whispered to him, her mind a storm of confusion. Maybe she—maybe she _should_ compel him to stay—to not go back out to space with his father. Scott was just _confused_, too; Scott would see that he was meant to be there alongside her after a night's rest!

"Living with you will be your death sentence." Scott softly verbalized the ghost that tormented her. "And I don't wish that upon you."

"Scott…" Jean whispered to him longingly, wishing for him to see reason; to _see_ her and how much she-

He pulled away and turned to his stunned companions.

"I love you guys." He bared his heart to them and waved. "Stay safe."

Jean wordlessly watched as Scott walked passed her—and almost blew up when he took both of X-23's hands in his.

"Laura, come with me." Scott urged the monster gently.

_Why!_

The killer looked surprised at Scott's declaration. "_Why?_"

"You can leave all the pain of this place. You can search for yourself again—and I'll be there with you every step of your way as your friend." Letting go of her, he tilted his head towards where the Starjammers were waiting. "We both need a break."

Jean's blood froze at the warmth in Scott's words. _Why couldn't he offer her the same!_

"Yes." X-23 nodded her head and, for the first time since they met, smiled. Together, the two good friends boarded the starship without so much as a look back—only forward.

"No!" Jean whispered when her body finally chose to respond, horrified at the sudden turn of events—at how badly her bid for a brighter future tanked.

But as always with regret, it was too late.

It was too late for her to remember that the leader of their band was human, too.

The greatest wonder was that Scott Summers hadn't run away from them to face his own problems.

Until now.

Now, truly, the greatest wonder was something that tore Jean Grey apart.

Would the Scott Summers she had fallen in love with ever return?

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: _***shrug* I consider the O5 and the 616 X-Men different characters. Tyke isn't Cyke, and while I don't think Jean is insane, Jeen sure is and for good reason.

So here you have it. Short and precise; could be longer, but I couldn't be bothered to type more. Just a Tyke-23 story from Jeen's point of view, ending with Tyke-23 leaving ANXM because _fuckit_,_ teehee~_ The coin toss, really, was whether Laura would jump on Tyke's bike and travel the world, or if they'd go on a space odyssey together. In celebration of Tyke's solo, space odyssey it was.


	3. I'm Used To It

**_A/N:_** Lacked inspiration to write a proper origins one-shot for these, read a couple of old favorites, then this idea hit me. On a _completely_ unrelated note, I want to play _Magna Carta: Tears of Blood_ again…

A happy shout-out and massive thanks to _warfolomei_ for co-creating the two of the three (if you include the omake) original characters here.

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><p>Crisis on Infinite Cyclops Daughters: I'm Used To It<p>

* * *

><p>Steve Rogers would admit that the last thing he expected to happen that day was to be assaulted, bound, and then gagged in Avengers Mansion with the rest of his Unity Squad.<p>

Yes, the _entire_ Unity Squad was incapacitated by some unknown female.

"Glare all you want; I'm _not_ letting you down until I've got what I need."

What started out a peaceful morning soon degenerated into chaos as a portal opened right in their living room. His team only had enough time to register said portal before something swift blurred out and then _darkness_.

If he were any other man, Steve would have been appalled and horrified into a panic at the sudden turn of events but, the Avenger mused, this _was_ just another normal day in Avengers Mansion.

That didn't stop him from trying to break free, of course.

"Look, I mean you no ill will," The intruder opened with an even tone; she didn't bother turning to face him though as her fingers continued tapping at the computer. "But I _know_ that you will _not_ allow what it is I'm doing even if I asked nicely."

Steve wanted to ask what it was she was doing but with the improvised ballgag in his mouth, all that came out was a nigh unintelligible "'a r 'oo 'ooing?"

As an aside, Steve made a mental note to wash his gloves regularly. Never had he tasted so foul a thing in his entire life!

"Nothing you need to know." Was her infuriating reply. Steve _hated_ being left out in the dark. "Ideally, I wouldn't even be speaking with you. But, out of respect for what _you_, I guess, have done for my—_have done_," Steve inwardly frowned; the brunette was picky with her words which penned a clearer list of suspects in his mind, the most likely of whom would prove a grievous headache. He prayed he was wrong. "I'm explaining myself to you."

Steve's frown deepened considerably. "'en 'et e 'o."

"Negative." She still wouldn't turn to him. "Not until I got what I need."

"'oo 'ill 'eg'et 'is." The captive soldier threatened, mustering up the deadliest glare he could to compensate for his embarrassing state.

"I don't think I will." She paused typing and simply stared at the screen.

Steve tried to peer over her shoulder, but the blood rushing to his head was seriously dampening his thoughts. Where _did_ she get the inspiration to tie him upside-down, left leg straight up to the ceiling, right leg hyperextending his hip, left arm taut to the ceiling behind him, and right arm forward. The atrocious pretzel-like folding of his body, bending and twisting his spine, made for an unpleasant experience.

No matter. If he stalled her long enough, the maybe-

"You may also stop hoping Thor or Wolverine will come save you." The intruder broke through his thoughts. "They're not coming."

Steve pressed his eyes shut and ignored her. She clearly didn't know who she was dealing with!

"Ah, damn." Steve's attention snapped back to the intruder at the sound of her disappointment. "I guess it was just wishful thinking that I'd find what I was looking for here."

The girl stood up and finally faced him.

Steve's eyes bugged out at what he saw.

The intruder was young—could not be more than seventeen by his estimate—but wore the typical bodysuit agents of S.W.O.R.D. wore, revealing taut and well-defined muscles with hardly any body fat, exalting her speed and strength. She was quite tall—her height only serving to add more to her intimidating presence.

But it was not the way she carried herself that struck the war veteran speechless, no.

It was her eyes. It was that he couldn't see her eyes, for her eyes were hidden.

Hidden by a familiar ruby-quartz visor.

It was the final hammer that nailed in the dread of his earlier suspicion.

"_Summers!_" The bound soldier managed to yell despite the gag in his mouth.

The intruder smirked an oh-so familiar, haughty smirk, and she threaded a hand through shoulder-length sinuous brown tresses.

"Who knows." The girl shrugged carelessly. She knew it was a futile attempt to remain anonymous—the man before her was no idiot in these matters—but it was best not to confirm anything in her case.

She had put considerable thought into this incursion.

_Speaking of which…_

Steve watched as the girl sharply turned to stare at something to the side. He captive soldier did not have much time to ponder her odd behavior.

A wall exploding inward had such an effect on a person.

"Steve!" A voice he quickly recognized as a worried Wanda sounded, "We're-"

**_SHAKOOM!_**

That was the most his rescuers could get before a massive wall of ruby completely engulfed them.

"I know I shouldn't take any pleasure from that, _but I hate you_." Her remark, while venomous, sounded somehow morose to Steve's ears.

She was trembling, Steve noted with keen eyes, and his mind struggled to piece together _why_ while trying to regain the advantage in his situation. It was clear to him that there was a conflict brewing inside of her.

It was just too bad that she recovered quickly.

"Well," The girl returned her gaze at him. Her hand flew up to the side of her visor. Steve tensed for the impact that would soon to follow only, instead, a _click_ sounded and the intruder extricated a rose-colored disc before storing it in one of the pouches of her utility belt and retrieving a much deeper _ruby_ disc, placing it on her headpiece. _Odd_. "You don't have what I need, so I'm leaving. I know it's futile, but let me warn you at least: _do not follow me_. I'm not here to do anything adverse."

Steve caught the small frown on her lips before she turned, picking out something from another pocket, and threw it on the ground. Instantly, another portal opened and his intruder disappeared.

It took another ten minutes of painful waiting before his team arrived and helped him out of his embarrassing predicament. It was in those moments that Steve came to a realization.

He _really_ hated Cyclops.

It infuriated Steve Rogers that his team was so easily incapacitated by what appeared to be a female Cyclops of all people! Steve was honestly growing frustrated that the fugitive X-Man and those alike him could so easily dismantle his team singlehandedly.

"So let me see if I've got this," Wolverine growled, slipping off his mask so he could massage the bridge of his nose; it was comforting to know that even _he_ with his superb healing factor was not immune to a headache. "We just got trounced by a female Summers?"

"Sounds like another case of time-travel to me." Havok grumbled. The blond looked exhausted but otherwise alright; no lasting damage.

"That's what I thought, too." Steve agreed. "I've read the reports; things like this happen often."

"Rachel, Nate, Nathan, Hope, that Ruby girl,"

"Stryfe." The disgruntled Canadian added.

"I hate time-travel." The time-displaced soldier concluded.

"Who do you think is the mother?" Wanda asked in an attempt for lighter conversation.

Steve opened his mouth—he had formulated a wild guess in those ten minutes spent alone as a disfigured pretzel—before abruptly snapping it shut. It sounded ludicrous even in his head but, with the scant amount of information available, it was the only answer he could come up with.

That didn't mean he was willing to share it, though, so instead, the soldier settled for staring at the gypsy.

"What?" Wanda asked.

"I'm not sure." Steve turned to the feral mutant. "What do you think?"

"I think she uses Wanda's shampoo." He grumbled.

"Scott and Wanda?" Havok blinked before barking a laugh at the absurd insinuation. "Yeah, no. Not in this reality."

It was only after Havok's words left his mouth when he realized how stupid they were.

"Uh…"

"There's no point thinking about that now." Steve swiftly took command. "Our mansion is a mess." He pointedly ignored Wolverine's snort. "We'll need to rebuild quickly. We've got an unknown, possibly time-traveling female loose in our world and, thanks to her thoroughness at hiding her motive," The intruder had deleted the logs of whatever it was she was looking for as well as footage of the entire ordeal. In fact, the only physical evidence of her presence, apart from their dilapidated home, was the metal disc she had thrown on the ground before she left. Steve made a mental note to have Tony, Reed, and Hank Pym reverse-engineer the doohickey. "No clue as to _why _she's here."

"What now, Captain?" Havok asked.

Steve stared at his fellow blond squarely.

"Now? Now, I'm going to overdose on some aspirin. Or drink. Whichever staves off this headache better."

The girl was no malicious threat.

He'd deal with her when the damn headache was gone.

-0-0-0-

When Scott Summers woke up, he couldn't tell if he had a hand attached to his right arm.

Such was the grip of his strange bedfellow.

"Who?" The groggy mutant murmured and blinked behind his ruby-quartz shades.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, and an even shorter moment still before his brain could pick out the particular shade of hair, but those moments were merely there to reinforce what he already knew—or didn't know, depending on how one looked at his realization:

This was definitely _not_ Illyana Rasputin, Demon Queen of Limbo, and frequent intruder of his sleeping quarters _and_ repeat hoarder of his blanket.

How did he know that the definitely feminine body did not belong to the free-spirited Magik? Apart from the much smaller and, dare he even think of it, _flat_ter body pressed up against his side, Scott actually _had_ a blanket wrapped around himself. Thus, the serial blanket thief was out of his list of suspects.

So, that begged the question, _who_?

Emma was out of the list by default. Even with the unexpected appearance of Ruby Summers, the mutant that claimed to be _their_ daughter from a possible future, and even though the two of them were able to reconcile after the Phoenix Force did its job, there were just too many events that happened between the both of them. It was still much too early for them to even _think_ of getting together again—and Ruby's intrusion only served to add more confusion to the mix. And just like with Illyana, the distinct lack of womanly ah, _attributes_, supported the fact.

So, _not Emma_.

Not Ruby either because he _didn't_ want to entertain the thought.

Briefly, Scott did wonder if this female was one of the Cuckoos simply to complete the list of blonde-haired females he knew were living in the former Weapon X facility, but he instantly crossed it out. _That_ was a creepier thought than Illyana's habitual sleepwalking into his quarters, sharing a bed with the womanly Ruby, and most especially a petite flat-chested Emma.

Yeah. So wrong.

_'Well,_' Scott thought dryly after he spent ample time—all of one second—musing about the identity of his intruder. All things considered, the former mutant leader was surprisingly calm. It was not just because his nerves had been tempered by his years, no; if this person was indeed hostile, Scott doubted he'd even _have_ this much time to think. _'There really is only one way to find out who this is.'_

With his free arm, he threw the blankets off him and his intruder before resting it on her shoulder. "Hey, I asked…"

His intruder stole his breath when she gazed up at him with piercing blue eyes; he quickly suppressed the shiver that threatened to run through his body. She was like a doll; she reminded him of a seven-year old Illyana when she was less, well, _Darkchilde _but more Magik.

"Da, atyets?" She stated evenly while her eyes remained staring at him, sapphires wide and crystalline.

"_Atyets_?" Scott repeated, confusion replacing his stupor. He could have sworn he knew the term but…

"отец." Came a voice from the doorway that Scott _could_ recognize, and he craned his head. Just as he thought, there stood Illyana Rasputin, clad in her leather attire and a triumphant gleam on her face. "It means _father_. I am _so_ pleased right now."

"Did something good hap—wait, _father!_" Scott snapped back towards the still staring blonde girl cuddling the life out of his arm. "_I'm your father?_"

"Da." The diminutive blonde nodded.

Scott groaned and shot a pleading look at the smug queen. "What did you do? And how come I haven't heard of this until now?"

"Amusing as this is, I didn't do anything." Illyana answered. "She just appeared last night while you were sleeping."

"And you didn't inform me until now because…?"

"I was busy watching you while you slept."

A shiver _did _run down Scott's spine at her unabashed declaration.

"I—it's better if I don't ask _why_ you were watching me, right?"

"Yes."

"Atyet," The blonde—whose name Scott still hadn't managed to get—spoke, drawing his and Illyana's attention. Her inflection seemed evidence that she hadn't grown up in her mother's homeland. "I will be staying here for a while."

"…_Why?_" Scott couldn't help but smile weakly. It was _too_ early in the morning for hijinks like this!

"I am stranded."

A plausible excuse with a readily-available solution.

"It's no problem. Illyana can take you back. It's not that I want you to leave," Scott began patiently to try and bring some seriousness into the conversation. "But time-travel is not to be toyed with."

Scott _didn't_ miss the derisive snort from the doorway.

The little girl pursed her lips and ignored reason. "I am on vacation."

Scott inwardly groaned. If there needed to be any more evidence to her maternal heritage, here it was: the conviction to do whatever they wanted without care.

"You can't possibly be on vacation." Scott denied. "You're only a child."

"I am fifteen." She stated.

The honesty in her annoyed tone ground the gears in his head to a screeching halt. "_What_? You can't possibly be-"

"It's true." Illyana supplied from the doorway and added after meeting Scott's incredulous look. "Ruby scanned her mind when she tried to stop me last night. It's a side-effect of her mutation, apparently."

"Da." The apparent _teen_ nodded.

"But she's—she's _tiny_!"

**_Crack_**.

Scott blinked and looked down when the girl suddenly let go. Oh, he could finally feel his hand again and oh god, _oh god_, **_oh god his hand hurt like-!_**

"I should have probably told you that she is sensitive about her height." Illyana commented unhelpfully. "It's why Ruby isn't here right now to glare daggers at me."

"Sorry, atyets." She apologized, tone still even that it was hard to tell if she was sincere. "It was an accident."

"It's okay." Scott nodded, beads of sweat forming at the back of his neck. "What's your name?"

"Anastasia." The girl now known as Anastasia stated. "Anastasia Summers. You would call me _Ana_."

"_Resurrection_?" Scott murmured before shaking his head at such a symbolic name. He decided he'd think of what it was her name meant at a later date. "Alright. You can stay in this time. Now, Illyana, _Ana_, if you two would excuse me," Ana left the bed to allow her father to stand and face the day. Scott smiled gratefully and proceeded to finish his first task. "I'll speak to you two after I've got this hand fixed."

"No therapeutic screaming?" Illyana asked mischievously.

He shook his head. "No therapeutic screaming if I can help it."

"Pity. I'd love to listen." Illyana shook her head before motioning to her daughter. "Come here, Ana. I want you to tell me all about how your mother managed to seduce your father."

Scott wished he could unhear the somehow jubilant answer—it was hard to tell for her voice remained even—he heard.

"Alright."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Omake:<em>** Locked and Loaded

"How _did_ you find our base, anyway?" Illyana asked curiously. Sure, she wasn't expecting their location to be a secret forever, but it was still weird how the girl appeared, walking casually through their front door.

"I always find atyets." Ana answered succinctly.

"Always?"

"Da." Her eyes gleamed. "_Always_."

Illyana felt a lone tear of motherly pride form in her eye. "Oh, my baby is going to be wonderful!"

_Their discussion wasn't creepy at all…_

* * *

><p><strong><em>Omake:<em>** Standard Operating Procedure

Rachel Grey grimaced at the undignified sight of an unconscious Hank McCoy sprawled atop his laboratory table with his bum raised high in the air.

"Bobby," The redhead heard the school's headmistress, Ororo Munroe, begin in a slow and firm tone, "Please stop taking _selfie_s with Hank's jutting rear."

"Just one more!" Bobby replied and Rachel heard another snap from his smartphone.

Ororo groaned at the silliness before directing her attention to Rachel. "Do you have an inkling as to what happened here?"

Rachel rolled her eyes and gestured an arm at the disheveled lab. "Time-travel."

The former Wakandan Queen narrowed her eyes at her subordinate's flippant reply. "Explain."

Rachel shrugged before listing, "Hank, no dignity. Lab, no order. Hole," she pointed at the large hole that really couldn't be missed; Ororo felt silly for just noticing it now, but she wouldn't let it show. "In the wall. Someone came and someone left. My best guess is a time-traveler." She glanced at the room again. "Or more."s

Ororo frowned. "Then we must find this time-traveler and ascertain their intentions."

It wouldn't do to have a repeat of their last batch of time-travelers. While it did bring her Kymera, the entire debacle was simply mortifying on their group's part and Ororo, for one, would not stand for yet another serving of ass-whooping unless it was _she_ that served it.

She'd been eating one-too-many plates of that lately.

"Yeah, you go do that." Rachel waved and made her way out of the Beast's lab.

"Where are you going, Ms. Grey?" Ororo sharply asked, the annoyance she felt at Rachel's casual dismissal showing. "We need you to operate Cerebro."

"I'm going back to my room." The time-traveler waved without sparing the headmistress a glance. "This isn't my problem and you can have Betsy scan the globe."

"Elizabeth isn't here." Ororo wondered where it was that the body-swapped mutant disappeared to lately.

It was almost as bad as Logan.

"Then Quire." Rachel paused at the door and threw a look over her shoulder, eyes gleaming with vindictive delight. "You trust him, don't you?"

"Rachel-!"

The woman slammed the door before Ororo could say anything more.

Taking out her phone, Rachel whistled a happy tune as she wrote her message.

:.: _Here comes a new challenger._ _Do what you do._ :.:

-0-0-0-

Nathan Summers paused and read his sister's message.

Nathan Summers scratched his head.

Nathan Summers decided to wash his hands clean of this impending mess and just wait for the hilarity to appear on TV.

The son of Madelyne Pryor hit the forward button, took out a subzero can of Royal Dutch, and became the epitome of _kicked back and relaxed_.

"I know I'll be in the blasting zone of this one." He took a sip and sighed happily. "But for now, I'll throw up, pass out, wake up, and then go drinking once again."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Omake:<strong>_ Damn you Summers!

It was her eyes. It was that he couldn't see her eyes, for her eyes were hidden.

Hidden by a familiar ruby-quartz visor.

It was the final hammer that nailed in the dread of his earlier suspicion.

"Damn you, _Summers!_" The bound soldier managed to yell despite the gag in his mouth. "How dare you turn this into a win!"

"I couldn't even manage a _frothing in the mouth_?" She shook her head and mourned. "Father will be so disappointed..."

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: _**I was going somewhere with this, I think.I tried a similar idea in the Dissidia section; it didn't work too well 'cause I tackled it seriously. This, well, it's crack. Hah.


	4. White Room of Hot Mamas

**_A/N:_** I will admit that this should be an omake in the vein of the previous idea, so expect more crack ie OOCness. Big thanks to AJKaton for thinking up an awesome title for this idea-series.

I shall be referring to the time-displaced O5 by their pet names for at least this drabble:

Teen Jean = _Jeen_, Teen Scott = _Tyke_, Teen Hank = _Tank_ or _CuBeast_, Teen Warren = _Warreen_ (someone recommend a better name), and Teen Bobby = _Snow Princess/Fairy_.

* * *

><p>Crisis on Infinite Cyclops Daughters: White Room of Hot Mamas<p>

* * *

><p>Perched on her spot in the White Hot Room overlooking the Earth of her home reality, Jean Grey-Summers had enough of all the time-travel and dimension-hopping shenanigans of her husband's alternate-reality children. She would have words with the would-be mothers, <em>personally<em>, if not for a snag in that plan:

She was dead and her body was still not ready to be raised. So, since she couldn't go to said would-be mother counterparts, she did the next best thing. Jean brought them to _her_ via the Astral Plane.

It was no easy task for one of them.

Emma Frost didn't put up that much of a fight. Sure she resisted upon feeling the intrusion but, after recognizing who it was, she allowed herself to get pulled. The White Queen was more resigned than anything else.

Wanda Maximoff was effortless. With mental defenses as feeble as hers, it was no wonder being possessed was just another day in the life of the Scarlet Witch.

But Illyana Rasputin… Jean had completely forgotten the near-impenetrable mind Magik possessed even as a child in the New Mutants squad. Still, Jean had power-cosmic at her disposal and a bordering-obsessive _need_ for Illyana to attend. That Illyana hadn't expected her played no small part in Jean's successful astral kidnapping.

Unfortunately, the extra effort Jean exerted to bring Illyana to the White Hot Room managed to snag a stowaway, and Jean found herself blinking in surprise as an identical pair of eyes stared back at her.

Oh, her patience was at her limit with Hank McCoy! First she was forced to brainwash her husband into taking his chance with Emma to prevent the desolate future Hank would have brought, and now, in this timeline, Hank decides to pull a stunt like _this_? She would burn him, bring him back to life, and then burn him all over again!

"Uhmmm…" The time-displaced Jean Grey glanced around before clearing her throat and smiling nervously at her older—_dead_—counterpart. "I wondered when we'd have this talk, but I never expected it to be with company."

_That_ snapped the sole resident of this reality's White Hot Room out of her internal rant.

Jean Grey-Summers supplied, "Well, to be honest, I never wanted to see you." She saw her younger self, _Jeen_, pout, and so quickly explained, "You and I can both agree that this is as awkward as it gets and you will not listen to whatever I say. I'd rather spare us the drama and let you get on with life."

Jeen frowned. "I'll be dead."

"And yet I'm here." Jean countered.

"I-" Jeen's eyes flashed before she realized that she didn't actually have an answer for that. "…why are we here?"

That question seemed to be the cue their audience was waiting for as the White Queen spoke.

"Indeed." Emma agreed but made no move to approach either Jeans. "I would like to know why is it that you've chosen to reveal yourself _now_, Ms. Grey."

"_Mrs. Summers._" Jean swiftly corrected in a tone as chilling as Emma's. She may have grudgingly respected Emma after everything she saw her go through, but that didn't mean they were friends. "Scott and I were never divorced—and I don't plan to stay here forever."

_That_ ignited a fury in the White Queen's eyes.

"Which brings me to the reason I brought you here." Jean continued before the other telepath could open her mouth with something scathing. Shooting a stern glare at each of the gathered women, she declared, "I do _not_ want any of you getting any closer to my husband!" She caught the mad grin on Illyana's cheeks and she glared at her. "_You especially_."

"You are crazy!" Ironically, it was Wanda that exclaimed. It seemed the disoriented gypsy had finally regained her bearings. "The only thing I want to do with Cyclops is put him on trial for the murder of Charles Xavier!"

Jean rolled her eyes. "One _could_ put up an argument that the event that lead to the professor's death was a direct consequence of your own action. Tell me, what _was_ the result of your trial?"

"I redeemed myself!" Wanda defended. "I helped Hope let go of the Phoenix Force!"

"_You_ helped her let go of the Phoenix Force?" Jean raised a brow and Wanda realized that it was silly of her to argue about the Phoenix Force against someone who actually had a history being bonded to it. "The Phoenix Force which only came in response to your spell. The Phoenix Force, which your group tried to destroy before realizing that Scott's choice to put his faith that the Phoenix wouldn't destroy Earth was the right one, and thus proceeded to follow it." Jean's voice grew more furious with each word. "The Phoenix Force who, because it had to correct _your_ mistake, has now delayed _my _revival!"

A terse silence followed the irate Jean's outburst. Nobody, it seemed, wanted to say anything for fear of aggravating the—

"So it all boils back down to you, Jean?" Illyana asked with a grin.

Scratch that. Nobody except a gutsy demon that was no stranger to the ways of gods.

Emma would admit that Illyana's recklessness nearly killed her right then and there.

"_Mrs. Summers_." Jean growled. "And I-"

"Have explained _why_ you brought us here. Which, again, boils back down to you." Illyana cut in, and Emma, Wanda, and Jeen couldn't decide whether to strangle or praise her. "Now that you've said _your_ piece, allow me to say _mine_."

Jeen frantically looked around for cover. Wanda looked torn between morbid fascination at watching two irritants try to kill each other and looking for cover. Emma Frost, on the other hand…

"_God help us all please smite Illyana before she kills us all._"

She clasped her hands together and prayed. Such was desperation.

"_Scott does not belong to you_." Illyana explicitly stated. "Scott does not belong to anyone."

"_What?_" The space around Jean erupted into a furious Phoenix raptor.

"Oh fuck." Emma eloquently summed up their situation.

"If anyone," Illyana continued, undaunted by Jean's obvious fury. "You have the lowest claim on him."

"_Be quiet_!" Surprisingly, it was Wanda that hissed. It seemed the Scarlet Witch had figured out how deep their graves ran.

Took her long enough.

"Actually…I want to know what Ms. Rasputin meant." Jeen cut in meekly. She almost cowered at the glares both Wanda and Emma shot her, but her nerves managed to withstand the onslaught.

Illyana's grin widened. "Do you, now?"

"Y-yes…"

"Well, let it not be said that I am not a willing educator…"

"_Illyana…_" Emma resigned herself to a fiery fate. If she could just telepathically suture Illyana's mouth shut in this astral plane…!

"_Let's not be too hasty…_" Wanda tried to pacify the two and inwardly cursed. What was it with the mutants and their drama!

"Do you know why Jean gathered us, specifically, here?" Illyana had guts, that was for sure. The Queen of Limbo turned to the time-displaced psi, not even minding the burning glare her older and much more powerful counterpart bore into her back.

Jeen shook her head, and Illyana continued with the same slow and knowing tone, "It is because _we_ are the latest possible mothers to Scott's children—proof quite literally dropping on our laps," Emma pinched the bridge of her nose—however helpful that was in the astral plane was up for debate—while Wanda grimaced at the reminder. "While you—well, older _you_—has not even sired one of his children."

"_Shut up_." Jean growled while Jeen's eyes widened in dawning realization.

"That's what it all boils down to, right?" Illyana finally turned back to the fiery redhead. There no longer was a leer on her face; only a smile, and one that reflect perfect lucidity. Illyana, for all her mischief, was far more perceptive than anyone might think. "It would seem that there doesn't exist a reality where you and Scott have your happy ending."

"Or it could be that none of my children are selfish enough to manipulate the time-stream!" Jean fired back hotly.

"For the record, my daughter hates me…" Wanda supplied in an attempt to defuse the tension before it exploded. She was promptly ignored.

"I am currently at odds with both Scott and Ruby." Emma attempted to wash her hands clean of the coming bloodbath. Not that she could, really; her former colleague's temper and obsession with her ex-boyfriend was legendary.

"But—but I—_we _have Rachel!" Jeen scrambled up a defense.

That was right, right? Jeen had managed to pick up stray thoughts when she was still in the Jean Grey School; Rachel Grey—Professor Grey—she was _her_ and Scott's child, right?

"Not… not quite." The fire around Jean slowly flickered into an ember with her slow and painful admission. She vividly recalled all the hurt in Rachel's eyes whenever she rejected her.

_But it was for good reason!_

"What?" Jeen was confused. But Rachel was-!

"Rachel believes she is mine and Scott's daughter and, with her heritage, she has the ability to alter her biology to make it appear so." Jean cautiously explained. Rachel was a tricky mess, her heritage exponentially. It was why Jean had always been hesitant to label Rachel as her daughter.

"So…" Jeen palmed her forehead and staggered, trying with all her might to make sense of the information she was just fed. "Whose is she, then?"

"There is only one being with vast enough telepathic power to rival telepaths like Xavier, _Mrs._ Summers, and myself, and fine enough telekinesis to alter structures at the molecular level and even smaller." Emma tried to introduce.

This was a headache even now, months _after_ she, Illyana, Scott, Namor, and Piotr had learned of the truth.

"Who is her mother!" Jeen growled. She hated how these grownups kept using roundabout ways to explain instead of diving straight to the point!

The embers around Jean suddenly grew in intensity before separating from her. Jeen and Wanda's eyes widened as the inferno swirled, burning brilliantly before seemingly condensing in one human-sized spot before, finally, it died down, revealing a fiery figure that had Jean's silhouette.

Belatedly, Jeen realized that neither Jean, Emma, nor Illyana seemed surprised at the apparent newcomer.

"**_I am._**" The figure spoke, sounding pleased. "**_Rachel is my child._**"

"That's not possible!" Wanda gasped when she recognized who it was she was speaking to. "You are-!"

"**_Fire and life incarnate._**" The fiery silhouette chirped. "**_I am Phoenix._**"

It would only take a whisper to knock Jeen and Wanda onto their rears with how perplexed they were; it was no wonder a moment later found them on their knees.

"That's not possible…" Wanda repeated softly, this time trying her best to convince herself rather than mount another futile argument.

Illyana watched with amusement as the Scarlet Witch chant her denial like a mantra.

"The Phoenix?" Jeen squeaked. She had heard and seen so many accounts, but to see it in person was a whole different matter entirely. "As in the _Phoenix Force_?"

"**_Yes._**" The _child of the universe_ nodded.

"I-" What could Jeen say? This was it—it was her encounter with this being that would turn her life upside down...! Jeen sighed in defeat. "…how is Rachel your child?"

"The Phoenix…" Jean's brow knitted as she struggled to suppress a headache. Even now, she was still baffled by the realization. "The Phoenix is obsessed with Scott." Jean shuddered after her creepy admission. It was just _wrong_ that this cosmic being was obsessed over her husband. She blamed herself, truthfully; if not for her love for Scott, the ever-curious Phoenix Force would never have been fascinated and then subsequently enamored by the reason _why_. "A part of it watches Scott as he sleeps."

"I do, too." Illyana admitted without shame.

"I knew it." Emma bobbed her head in satisfaction now that she had proof.

"**_I cannot bare his children._**" The Phoenix continued and Jeen shivered at its tone; _was that regret?_ "**_The me of her reality used a piece of itself to create she who would be known as Rachel Ann Grey-Summers, and she would be raised by my love. Of course, Rachel does not know and never will with her vehement denial. She has deluded herself that Jean is her true mother._**" It sighed. "**_At least she got her father right._**"

"So all that time you were hosted by Rachel…" Emma trailed off.

"**_Mother-daughter bonding time._**" The Phoenix succinctly finished.

There was a short moment of silence as the gathered women comprehended all the information thus far.

"You are not ready for children." Jean stated firmly. "You are still a child by the universe's standards! And you!" Jean snapped towards the snickering Illyana. "What's so funny _now_?"

"You are." Illyana jeered before straightening herself. "Like I said, _you_ truly seem to be at the bottom of Scott's dicking chain." Jean and Jeen flushed at Magik's colorful syntax. "Your clone bore Scott's child, your passenger—no offense—created a child for Scott, but _you_," Illyana clicked her tongue. "You've never had a child with him, have you? The closest any version of you seems to have managed was Nate, and even then, it does not count."

Jean ran a hand through her red hair in frustration. This was not how she planned to chew out these women. "That is why I want all of you to lay off Scott!"

"I don't plan to lay with him!" Wanda vehemently cried.

"I'm tempted to lay with him now just to spite you." Emma mused.

"I can ready him for you." Illyana grinned.

"A desperate virgin like you wouldn't even know how to spell penis." Emma rolled her eyes.

"Well," Illyana's grin widened. "Scott's _was_ at the tip of my tongue last night."

At least, until Ruby cock-blocked her again.

Jeen looked a cross between confused and horrified at all these admissions. She also made a mental note to keep _her_ Scott closer from now on.

"No!" Jean crossed her hands. "None of you will touch him! When I come back, none of you shall interfere with my plans!"

"Dare I even ask?" Emma shook her head and sighed. "I think I know…"

"I will ride Scott's one-eyed monster until both our hips break!" Jean declared loudly, a righteous and determined fire igniting her eyes. "I will squeeze every drop of baby batter from his balls until he will be pumping blood to water my fertile garden! The fruits of our labor will be glorious! And then I shall ride him again until the world itself breaks! _No, until reality is rend_!"

It was Jeen's turn to shake her head and mutter, "This isn't creepy at all."

Still, the idea was worth some more consideration.

"**_And you say I am mental._**" The Phoenix clicked its tongue.

"Can we please go now?" Wanda was already crying at this point.

"_I will name my first son Jonathan Christopher Charles Grey-Summers! My first daughter shall be…_"

The gathered collectively tuned her out.

"She isn't even listening anymore." Emma stated.

"**_Live this long without sexual contact and then we shall see how you react._**"

"But…?" Emma grinned knowingly.

The Phoenix actually snorted. "**_But yes, she cannot be stopped when she is like this._**"

"Oh you poor dear…" Emma cooed.

"**_It is not a problem. I learn many things from Jean Grey-Summers._**"

"_…and then I shall do him while swimming in space! We'll share one spacesuit and make sweet, sweet fornication, our heated flesh rubbing against each other as I smother his lips with my kiss while he violently bucks his…"_

"I see." Emma grimaced as all of Jean's pent up sexual frustration bled out. Her grimace deepened when she turned back to the firebird. "Are you taking notes?" The White Queen commented, to which the firebird simply nodded, and then did a double-take at Illyana. "You too!"

"I must admit, I had been wrong about _Mrs. Summers_." _Now _Illyana chose to show her respect. "She is a very knowledgeable woman."

"Spare me." Wanda cried. She wasn't even-!

"AH!" All eyes turned when Jeen suddenly exclaimed. They followed the time-displaced red-head's pointed finger and found a young but extremely familiar raven-haired mutant materialize in the astral plane. "Laura, what are you doing here?"

Laura Kinney observed the gathered women with her usual calculating eyes before coming out with the truth.

"I was told by Mindee, Phoebe, and Celeste that I must attend this assembly."

Jeen's heart sank with suspicion but still she had to ask, "Did they say _why_?"

Laura blinked. "Not explicitly. The younger Scott and I responded to a new mutant alert and found ourselves confronted by someone that claimed to be our child from the future."

Everyone winced as they actually _heard_ the wheels in Jean's head grind to a screeching halt.

The White Hot Room exploded with the fury of a sexually-frustrated woman scorned.

"_WHAT!_"

Wanda was now curled into a ball and rocking herself in a corner.

It seemed she wouldn't be returning to the sanctity of sanity any time soon.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Omake:<em>** Hope & Tyke from the watchers (spinning off from the _Kohlberg's Theory_)

"I don't believe it! That redheaded, green-eyed skank is making cow eyes at Scott!" Jeen was beside herself with fury.

"I do not see the issue." Laura grunted, her fists clenching and unclenching rhythmically despite her words. Odd, she was starting to regret saving Hope from Bishop and Stryfe that time.

"It is because," Irma begins.

"Mr. Summers is attracted to redheads with stunning green eyes." Phoebe adds cheerfully.

"Or blonde-haired telepaths." Celeste folds her arms.

"Scott does not!" Jeen exclaimed. "While Scott may be attracted by looks, he falls in love with personality. Better personality." She concluded before muttering. "_Like mine…_"

Laura perked up at Jeen's vocal musing, and then glanced at the mirror.

"At least my eyes are green." Laura nodded to herself.

She resolved to shower Tyke with more hugs in the future.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN:_** Crack. Pure and utter, omake-style crack. In fact, this one actually started with just one joke—that penis-exchange between Emma and Illyana. Evidently, this got blown out of proportion. And to be honest? I was going to have either Abigail Brand or Tempus spout that line, but ballsy Magik is fun to write =w=


	5. Rattenfänger von Hameln

**_A/N:_ **Summer internship just finished, and while I have exams again next week, I felt like making a bit of time for a quick snippet. This update was made in part to promote my _Just In Space_ forum and in part because of a silly update trend that I will now break.

I was typing up a Tyke vs Hope "who's got the crappier childhood?" battle in the vein of the Shrek: The Musical song _I Think I Got You Beat_, but aborted it after several attempts. It may get featured in an omake if the idea still persists.

* * *

><p>Rattenfänger von Hameln<p>

"I'm glad no one had to get hurt."

- Scott Summers to Illyana Rasputin

* * *

><p>It was times like this that Havok wished Captain America was leading the charge.<p>

Eight hours ago, S.H.I.E.L.D. had finally discovered the hiding place of his brother's—of Professor Xavier's murderer. After the many times the Uncanny X-Men bested the spy agency, Maria Hill made what she thought was the wise choice of informing the Avengers.

Four hours ago, pretty much every Avenger and mutant in the world had gathered. Being the leader of the Unity Squad, Havok was chosen to take charge of the operation. With a gang of Hulks, a Thor, a Captain Marvel, a Sorcerer Supreme, a Scarlet Witch, a Storm, an Iceman, a Psylocke, and a Rachel Grey, among the army of capes that answered his call, Havok was sure that his broth- Professor Xavier's murderer would stand no match.

Two hours ago, they made contact, but not with who they wanted.

"Step aside, Illyana, and you won't get hurt." Havok commanded. Behind him, the army that had gathered tensed. "We're only here for Scott."

"You say that as if you can order me, deserter." Illyana taunted.

Havok's lips flat-lined. "Did Scott put you up to this? We all know how this will end."

There was all of them, and only one of her. No matter how powerful Magik was, she was only one mutant standing defiant against them all.

"Scott does not know you are all here, nor does he need to." Horns sprouted atop Illyana's head and the Darkchilde's eyes flickered towards the schoolteacher with a wicked gleam. "Ah, ah, ah, Miss Grey." The demonic mutant admonished. "You do not want to enter my head. Neither do you, Miss Braddock."

"What the bloody hell did she do?" Psylocke cursed. "Were you able to get in, Rachel?"

"I couldn't. This- this is just like before!" Rachel's eyes widened with a fear she couldn't shake. This was _wrong_.

"Is this all you brought, deserter?" Illyana asked as she turned her attention back towards the ringleader.

"Enough with your foolish posturing, demon!" Thor growled after finally at his patience's end. "If you will not stand down, I shall fulfill my prior promise and smite you where you stand! And this time, you do not have the Phoenix Force to save you! "

In Thor's hands, Mjolnir spun; above the skies, storm clouds gathered.

"Ah, silly alien." The Darkchilde shook her head as the last of her armor covered her. "If only you knew."

"Last chance, Magik." Havok gathered his power for a blast that would end this before it could get ugly. Magik's preparation throughout their conversation was not lost in him. The insane mutant actually _wanted_ to take on his army by herself.

"Please, Illyana." Storm pleaded her former teammate. "Is Scott worth risking your life over?"

"He is my friend." Illyana calmly answered. "Not that you understand what that means."

The demon brandished her Soulsword.

"After this? Well, let's hope you have the chance to do."

Without warning, two massive bolts of lightning struck the demon just milliseconds before a wave of cosmic energy completely enveloped the landscape.

That was Havok's greatest mistake.

In an instant, those same waves of destruction slammed into the army of capes, leaving only the strong and the lucky standing. Havok's pained scream drowned in the sea of his comrade's anguish cries; not even the strongest shield Dr. Strange, Iron Man, Rachel Grey, and Psylocke created could shield them from the reflected onslaught.

Illyana was thankful such cries were short-lived. Unconsciousness and, maybe in some cases, _death_ had such an effect.

"Is that all?" The Darkchilde asked.

"_Attack!_"

All the Hulks leapt at the still-grinning demon only to vanish from the battlefield. Captain Marvel was next; she had attempted to flee to the skies and regroup only to hit another of the Darkchilde's stepping discs.

"Why don't you fight us properly!" Havok managed to scream despite his struggle to stand. Behind him, his army started to recover.

"Yes, you're right." The demon admitted, unable to contain her disappointment. "This is no fun."

"We're not here to have fun!" Havok sprinted forward, throwing a shattering punch at the one-woman army. To his surprise, only his fist was transported, knocking the Scarlet Witch behind him out cold.

"Hnn!" Havok gasped as the demon's Soulsword sliced through his torso. His chest suddenly tightened painfully, and he crumpled onto the floor.

"It is unfortunate that Scott will be furious if I kill you." The Darkchilde spoke of her regret. She slammed her hooved foot against Havok's head, turning his body around so he could watch the one-sided battle despite his incapacitated stated.

"Stop this, Illyana!" Storm, having finally recovered, took to the skies and called down all manner of nature's wrath at the Queen of Limbo. "This is not you!"

"_You do not know who I am._"

Fear traveled down Storm's spine as she slowly turned towards the demon that whispered against her ear. The Darkchilde was there with her in the air, standing upon the light of her stepping disc.

"Begone!" Storm reflexively attacked, sending a burst of wind at her assailant. That same gust slammed into her back, throwing her into and impaling her on the demon's waiting sword.

"_You, I have always wanted to kill_." The demon confessed longingly. "_A mere mortal claiming to be a goddess? What ego must you have, when you do not even know the meaning of hell. Another pity to keep you alive._" She pulled her sword away and watched the white-haired mutant's limp and gasping body fall—onto Thor's waiting arms as the thunder god charged straight at her.

"You want to fight a god, demon?" Thor shouted and swung. "Well then, have at thee!"

It missed, and Thor's empowered strike shattered the ground below, sending all the grounded capes flying.

"Boring." Shaking her head, the demon could not help but feel cheated of what should have been an exhilarating experience.

"Face us squarely, demon!" Thor shouted at the one that looked down on them.

If Havok could speak, he would have shouted at the thunder god for his arrogant taunting.

"As you wish." The Darkchilde bowed her head mockingly.

At once, all the remaining and conscious capes felt their hearts stop.

Light erupted all around the battlefield, filling the skies and the ground with a familiar, grinning demon.

"I—can I just say we're thoroughly screwed?" Spider-man felt his throat dry at the army of Darkchildes that gathered.

The lightshow hadn't ceased. After Magik's own army appeared, hellfire began spewing out of the stepping discs as demons ranging from giant wyrms to hulking humanoids to imps, charged onto the battlefield and engaged the gathered capes.

"Oh come on!" The wall-crawler whined just before even his own lights went out.

That cemented it in Havok's eyes.

They _needed_ to retreat.

_'Rachel! Betsy!'_ Havok thought hard with the desperate hope that the telepaths could hear him.

No such luck.

Had Havok had the ability to look, he would have found both of them with their eyes rolled back into their heads as blood painted the lower half of their faces. The backlash from putting up a TK field against that first onslaught had nearly fried their brains- had they been the only ones to put up the shield, they surely would have died.

Mad laughter filled the battlefield as the army of Illyanas joined the battle, completely massacring the intruders.

Two hours ago, Havok and his army made contact with one lone mutant with the belief that she was insane for standing against them. They so were wrong; it was the other way around. _They_ were insane for thinking _they_ could stand a chance against this one lone mutant.

One hour ago, Illyana Rasputin had finally grown bored slaughtering her enemies. She ended the massacre.

_Now_, Havok finally woke up.

He found himself still incapacitated by the effect of the demon's Soulsword, unable to do anything but stare at the familiar snow-covered clearing below him.

A clearing filled with capes that stood face-to-face with one lone, defiant mutant.

"I love time-travel." His captor spoke from where she sat on a boulder with her chin resting on the hilt of her Soulsword. "I get to enjoy every moment of the smack-down I deliver."

It was then when Havok understood the meaning of futility.

They never really had a chance against this demon.

Horrifyingly, much like the rats that followed the Pied Piper of Hamelin, they were merely dancing to their destruction to the demon's tune.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Omake: <strong>_You Monster

"When life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade."

"Yes." Illyana hissed in sync with the agreement from one of the characters on screen.

"Make life take the lemons back!"

"_Yes!_" She groaned.

"Get mad!"

"_Oh, yes!_"

"I don't want your damn lemons, what the hell am I supposed to do with all of these?"

"Yeah, take the lemons." Came the artificial intelligence's gleeful comment.

"_Splatter it across his face!_" Illyana gleefully added.

"Demand to see life's manager!"

"_Dark lords, yes!_"

"Make life rue the day it thought it could give Cave Johnson lemons! Do you know who I am? I am the man who's gonna burn your house down!"

"Oh, I like this guy." The artificial intelligence said.

"_I do, too._" Illyana sang her agreement while her body trembled euphorically. _  
><em>

"With the lemons! I'm gonna get my engineers to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!"

"Burn his house down!"

"_Down to the ground!_" Illyana screamed.

"Scott?" Emma began, her body shuddering as she warily eyed the gleeful Illyana. "Are you sure Illyana should be playing this?"

"Of course." Scott replied confidently. Trust Scott Summers to be oblivious to Illyana's near-orgasmic shivering. "This is the perfect material to teach Illyana more applications of her powers."

"Don't say I didn't warn you." Emma said before swiftly retreating from both Illyana's physical and mental vicinity. "Just, if you wake up one day with jumping boot strapped to your legs and a portal gun in your arms, please remember that I was right."

Several days later, Scott resolved to pay Emma's counsel more attention.

As an aside, thanks to Illyana's determination, she gained a new projectile in the form of a combustible lemon.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN:_ **Unfortunately, I couldn't insert a scene where Illyana unleashes her magic. And yes, I did get the idea of the Magik army from Date A Live's best girl.

I kinda feel the mutants were nerfed in AvX. Even without the Phoenix Force, the amount of power at the disposal of the Extinction Team should have curbstomped the opposition until they weren't even grease on the pavement. Heck, Magneto, the guy that pulled that massive Breakworld bullet from the nearby galaxy, should have been able to destroy that metal-using team singlehandedly.

Then there's Magik. Then there's P5!Magik.

Really, it's no wonder Bendis felt the need to 'nerf' the Uncanny X-Men.

Lastly, many thanks to KasugaRomia for the slew of reviews! And yeah, Phoenix Force/Scott really could be the next Venom/Peter!


	6. Sunset Rider

**Blurb:** They were kids. They were entitled to do stupid stuff. But maybe, just this once, stupidity would pay off.

* * *

><p><em>Sunset Rider<em>

* * *

><p>It clearly was hormones.<p>

And angst.

But _mostly_ hormones.

Laura Kinney had the most captivating eyes he had ever seen. They were wide as if in perpetual wonder—until her face contorted into a feral snarl, in which case X-23's was the prettiest face one could ever fear. Hers were eyes that seemed to bore into you. When those orbs locked into you, it was as if there were only you and her in the world—and you had her undivided attention.

Judging by its subtle shade of ruby, Scott Summers imagined that their color was just like Jean's. He noticed this, of course. The young man would be lying if he said that Laura's eyes never reminded him of his ex.

A month.

It had been a month since Scott and his team were able to cement their place in _this_ segment of time. It had also been in that month when Jean revealed that she was now going out with Hank—though not in the most verbal way ever.

When Jean threw herself between Hank's arms in relief and his friend had planted a deep one against her lips, only one startling thought made it through his hollow mind before the daggers finally sank:_ he never did get to finish that conversation with Jean._

Since he arrived in this time, his life had only spiraled further into cold, icy and unforgiving depths, and he really hadn't a clue _why_. One moment he was just trying to be the good leader and keep both his team and Xavier's dream intact, and in the next moment _everything was gone_.

It was getting progressively harder to bottle in all his frustrations.

And yet, painful as the reminder of his happy days snatched was, he _couldn't_ look away whenever he met Laura's glassy gaze.

Because, amidst the pain he felt, he could see Laura's own.

It may have been why they gravitated towards each other.

That, and hormones.

Damn hormones.

-0-0-0-

Young Scott Summers smells like failure.

Of course, _failure_ does not have an actual smell, but Laura had long-since correlated this particular blend of odorants with failure.

There is a high probability that young Scott Summers was depressed. Therefore, it was likely that he was not thinking properly.

Then again, neither was she.

From what she had gathered, Dr. Henry McCoy brought the first five X-Men to the future in an attempt to tell the present Scott Summers that he was wrong. The premise of Dr. Henry McCoy's plan was, frankly put, insane, but Laura had already stopped looking for logic in Dr. Henry McCoy's actions when the X-Men were based in Greymalkin.

It had become apparent to her that, for all his genius intellect, Dr. Henry McCoy was driven more by emotion and personal ego than any form of rational thought. Dr. Henry McCoy was someone that ate his cake and expected to have it, too.

Given the world she had grown up in, Laura found such an inclination fictitious and harmful to those that surrounded the furry mutant. Life, no matter how seemingly beautiful, was _never_ that kind.

If she were allowed to draw an analogy, the concept of life was an angler fish. It dangled the light of happiness before one's eyes before suddenly baring its sharp teeth and swallows one whole.

Whatever was the case, the younger counter parts of Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Robert Drake, Warren Worthington the Third, and Henry McCoy had been through a lot of dangerous situations over the course of their stay, including repelling an attack from the future Brotherhood of Mutants, and Laura, having just been retrieved from the hell that was Murderworld and discharged from the hospital, was tasked with seeing to the continued safety of these time-displaced X-Men.

Mind moving without thought after the ordeal she had just went through—after losing as many friends as she had—Laura accepted the job. It was supposed to be a simple mission, too.

Unfortunately for her, Scott Summers had other plans.

It seemed to her that he was making it a point to take Logan's motorcycle and disappear into the city. Naturally, Laura was forced to chase after Scott Summers. She had not thought much of it at first—Laura herself wanted to get away from the institute that held so many bitter memories—but the frequency of Scott Summers' trips had begun to become irritating.

Particularly when she was forced to chase after him on foot. Megan Gwyn would, on occasion, offer her a lift, but Laura did not want to rely on the well-meaning Pixie's charity. For reasons currently unexplainable, an unsettling feeling always crept across her skin whenever she met her former classmates.

Whatever the case, she had her hands full keeping track of the flighty mutant. At the very least, it gave her something to focus on beyond the torment of the sins she had committed in Murderworld.

It was fortunate that the scent of failure was easy to track.

She just had to locate the stench that was as potent as her own.

-0-0-0-

A firm grip clasped around his wrist.

"What the?" Scott Summers turned around and was met with those glimmering doll-like eyes.

"It is time to return, Scott." Laura informed him curtly before tugging his arm as she made her way to Logan's stolen bike.

"No." The time-displaced mutant firmly replied.

Laura's eyes hardened. "We _will_ return to the school. You are not authorized to venture this far unsupervised."

"They hired you to look after us, right?" Scott reminded. "Well, you're now here to supervise _me_."

A small frown marred the raven's lips, but that slight sign somehow carried much _more_ weight that it should.

"I was _not_ hired."

She was not hired, Laura reassured herself. She was not an expendable tool.

In fact, Kitty Pryde and her students had retrieved her from that Purifiers' assault! That meant she was not expendable!

She was _asked_ a favor from _people that should have __**looked for her when-!**_

A warm grip enveloped her hand.

"Sorry." Scott said, suddenly sounding more apologetic than confrontational. He smelled truly remorseful, and Laura realized that _her_ grip had depleted his hand of nearly all blood supply. Still, Scott persisted as if not feeling it, "I just _need_ to be away. Just for a bit. I need to think."

He _needed _to think.

_Alone._

Scott hoped that she would understand. He couldn't think when he was at the school.

Next to him, Laura could see the older Cyclops—the leader that _she_ knew. In her mind's eye, she saw him sitting there behind his desk, chin resting on his hands in deep thought. She could _see_ all the people he knew walking away from him—running away from their own responsibilities and leaving Cyclops to carry their burdens. She could hear them whispering about _inevitabilities_ and _straying from the path_ but, to her ears, it sounded as if they were trying to justify their inaction.

Laura did not like what she saw.

"That is not acceptable." Laura countered Scott in a soft tone that nevertheless left no room for compromise. "If you insist on remaining here, then I _will_ accompany you."

Maybe, if Cyclops was not left alone in that corner, things would have been different.

Inevitability? Her mind could not comprehend a concept so abstract.

However, if one were to throw _everything_ they had at a task, then no matter how insurmountable an obstacle was, _it would budge_. If one were to get up until they could not no longer stand, _and _then stand again _and again_, _then _something _had_ to happen.

Her _mother_ had taught her that.

"…suit yourself." Scott finally answered. This girl was a stubborn one; there was no way he could rebuff her. Still, a small part of him was grateful for the company.

No one truly wanted to be alone, after all.

-0-0-0-

Scott blinked curiously behind his ruby frames.

"What is it?" Laura, with eyes reflecting her curiosity, asked him when she sensed his stupor.

"I expected you to eat more." Scott admitted before suddenly feeling sheepish about his statement. "Never mind." He quickly tried to brush it off.

"This amount is sufficient to support my needs based on my height, energy consumption, and ideal muscle and fat composition." Laura explained.

Scott blinked once more behind his shades. He had heard that women were particular about their size and, indeed, Jean _was_, but he never thought they took the matter this seriously.

"Is that so…" Scott nodded his head. Glancing at the sandwich on his plate, he couldn't help but wonder, "Do you think I'm eating enough?"

Call him thrifty, but it had only been a few weeks, contextually speaking of course, since the Professor found him during that heist with… _Jack_. His time both at the orphanage and under _Jack's_ roof had been very unpleasant, to put it mildly, and Scott had learned to ration all his resources, and had already learned to ignore the incessant growling of even the worst of hunger pains.

However, after becoming an X-Man, Scott had suddenly been introduce to a more normal life than the one he had lived so far. At the very least, he actually _had_ food.

Still, _old habits die hard_, and Scott didn't want to remain a twig forever. Granted, he had met his future self, and the man definitely fit the description of tall and intimidating and—

–_and all these thoughts made his head hurt_.

Laura was not oblivious to her companion's inner turmoil. While she may not have known exactly what it was he had been contemplating, Laura had read the micro-expressions on the inexperienced Scott's features, and she was smart enough to draw logical conclusions and an action plan.

And the action she had chosen, naturally, was of redirection.

"You do not consume enough calories." Laura pointed out. "Current analysis of your ability postulates that, while you can modulate the magnitude and intensity of your optic blasts, your eyes are merely gateways to the dimension from which your blasts originate, and your body consumes tremendous quantities of energy to keep the aforementioned gates open."

Laura knew she was the last person one should talk to regarding their feelings, especially because she, herself, was currently in a quandary regarding her own.

Scott was stunned by the very detailed response he garnered from his innocent question. He wondered if this woman—_Laura Kinney_—was always so thorough.

"I never knew my powers worked like that." Scott confessed and gave Laura as grateful a smile as his face could contort. "Thanks. Has there really been a lot of research into my powers?"

Laura was inwardly glad that Scott no longer appeared troubled but, instead, was focused on what she knew. "Yes. There are many who have studied the mechanisms by which mutant powers manifest."

The implication of Laura's neutrally-spoken words brought a frown to Scott's face. "Let me guess: anti-mutant government agencies?"

"Partially." Laura answered. "Majority comes from mutants themselves, and many of them you know, or will know in the future. Professor Charles Xavier and his human accomplice, Dr. Moira MacTaggert," Scott nodded his head at the familiar name, "Dr. Henry McCoy, Dr. James Bradley and even Dr. Kavita Rao. Even Max Eisenhardt has studied mutant physiology to an extent."

"Max Eisenhardt?" Scott parroted questioningly.

"The name Erik Lehnsherr was born with."

"Ah."

"Magneto."

"I know who he is." Scott remarked with a sigh. It wasn't like Scott would forget who Magneto was any time soon. "Who else, Laura?"

"Nathaniel Essex." Laura blurted without thinking. It was at this point when Laura paused as her companion suddenly shivered. Narrowing her eyes at the reaction, the young mutant could not help but wonder if she had stepped on a landmine. "Do you know who he is?"

"No." Scott shook his head. "It's just—I don't know, there was something about the name."

"Just to make sure," Laura's stare remained intense and analyzing, "You have not met Nathaniel Essex before?"

"I—I don't think so."

"Your heart rate is erratic." Laura pointed out. "This is important, Scott, and I will appreciate your honesty. Have you or have you not met Nathaniel Essex?"

"I'm not lying!" Scott hissed, and Laura could see betrayal coat his features. "I've never met the man before!"

"I believe you." Laura told him as convincingly, inwardly arriving to the conclusion that pursuing the matter will only aggravate the time-displaced mutant more. Though it was difficult to tell if Scott truly was telling the truth—his reaction told her he was lying, but her instinct told her the matter was more complex than that—Laura decided that she would need to keep Scott away from Nathaniel Essex at all cost.

"Who is he." Scott demanded when he finally calmed down.

"He, like the many I have named, has studied mutation and the abilities it manifests on a genetic level."

"_Who is he, Laura_."

"I have already answered-"

"Laura." Two strong hands grabbed her arms. "You know what I mean. Who is Nathaniel Essex, and what is my relation to him?"

Laura briefly considered tossing Scott onto the floor and storming out until he cooled down. It would be easy—but it would only hurt him, literally and figuratively. Laura had known ever since she took her first step in the Jean Grey School after she was retrieved by Kitty Pryde's squad of time-displaced X-Men, that Scott was alone in that institute.

There was no one the young Scott could turn to for help. No one would support him or even give him information. Scott had to keep his ears to the ground and decipher all the rumors and slander against him in an attempt to make sense of what was happening to him.

Laura had gone through that, as well. It was a maddening experience, which was why Laura truly could not blame Scott for running away. The school staff were doing nobody any favors by taking out all their grudges on the present-day Cyclops on his younger counterpart.

"Laura, please," Scott pleaded, releasing his grip on her. "I need to know who this man is and why I feel ill just hearing his name."

"…Know that my answer might have more adverse effects on you than you anticipate." Laura warned. "Do you still wish to know despite this?"

"Yes, Laura."

"Nathaniel Essex… or Mr. Sinister, as the X-Men have come to know him, is a narcissistic but nonetheless intellectually brilliant telepath. Among all those that I have mentioned, Mr. Sinister is the one that has studied mutations the most extensively."

"So he knows the most about our powerset." Scott realized. "That is indeed troublesome."

Laura could not stop the smile from forming on her lips. Trust Scott Summers, no matter what age, to immediately identify tactical applications to the information he was given, rather than contemplate at a more personal level.

"Mr. Sinister is the one that ran your orphanage, Scott."

"Wh-what?" Scott spluttered.

"He is obsessed with you. Although he has studied many mutants, his main focus was always on you. From the reports I have read, it seems he conducted numerous experiments on you."

Scott wanted to call her a liar. Surely, he'd know if he was being tampered with, right? It was such a knee-jerk reaction, but Scott realized that Laura had no reason to lie.

This, the words coming out of her mouth, was the truth.

It was the truth that he wanted to know, bitter as it may be.

"Scott, are you alright?" Laura asked him with worry shimmering in her eyes.

"I'm… processing." Scott managed to grit out. Though he had never met the man, and though he could not remember what was done to him, his body _knew_. It felt like bile was going to spill from his mouth at any moment, and it took all his willpower to fight it back down into his gut. "For how long, Laura? And what did he do to me? Why me?"

"I am lead to assume your entire life in the orphanage." Laura answered him, sequentially. "I do not know the specifics, but it might be wise to conclude that every event that has caused you pain was orchestrated by Mr. Sinister. As for his obsession with you, I have no answer for that."

"Great." Scott would had laughed hollowly if he had been the laughing sort. Instead, his jaw squared as he wrestled for control over his emotions.

Laura was right.

This was a bomb.

"Scott, it is imperative that you do not come into contact with Mr. Sinister at all costs." Laura warned.

"I'm sure."

"Do not take the threat he poses lightly, Scott."

"I'm not."

"Then stop strategizing in your head regarding the actions you will take should a confrontation occur."

"… are you sure you are not a telepath? Never mind." Scott shook his head before smiling reassuringly when his companion scowled. "Listen, Laura, if this man is as obsessed with me as you've made him out to be, then my confrontation with him is inevitable—doubly so now that we've spoken about him. It's—it's like the principle of _Chekhov's gun_."

"That principle only applies to dramatic literature."

"Yeah, well, my life feels straight out of dramatic literature." Scott bitterly remarked.

When Laura remained unhappy, Scott sighed and formulated a compromise, "Look, it's not like I'm actively looking for a way to find him, alright? I mean, what he did to me—it angers me, but I'm not giving in. I've got more pressing problems at the moment."

"Very well."

"I'm—thanks, Laura."

Laura nodded her head. Glancing at the setting sun, Laura stood up. "It is late now, Scott. We must return to the school."

Scott wanted to tell her to go on ahead. Really, he _didn't_ want to go back to the school and its frigid atmosphere despite looking so much like the home he had been tricked into leaving—the home he had finally found for himself.

That place wasn't home—not when he finally had a taste of what a home truly was. Home wasn't a place where the head of the house wanted to kill him while everyone else simply watched.

_Still…_

Scott glanced up at Laura who, for once, was _not _manhandling him. Instead, she remained standing before him and waited there patiently.

Steeling himself, Scott decided. "Alright. Let's go back."

Maybe this was it? Maybe… maybe he had finally found a friend…

Maybe the school wasn't so bad, if Laura chose to return there.

"Good." Laura smiled. "Now, give me the keys."

"Huh?" Scott's brow rose over his shades. What did she mean?

"Give me the keys to the motorcycle." Laura clarified. "I will take us home."

"Laura, if you're worried about me running away again, trust me; I won't."

"I know. However, I am clearly the better rider between the two of us, therefore I _will_ get us back to the school faster."

"Is—is this some kind of thing in this time?" Scott asked. He knew gender equality was still an issue, but he never thought it would bother Laura.

"No. It is simply the truth."

And then, Laura_ smiled_.

Scott was stunned for the nth time that afternoon.

It must have been hormones, really, because there was just no way that his heart could flutter this much from a simple smile from a girl he had barely known. It wasn't even a bright or wide smile, either; just a simple curling of her lips, and happiness in her gaze.

He wasn't sure if Laura herself noticed it.

Gone was the haunted loneliness in her eyes and, Scott resolved, if giving her the keys to the bike and, in doing so, _not acting chivalrous at all_ was all it took to keep Laura that way, then he'd give her the keys forever.

"Fine." Awkwardly, Scott handed her the keys as they made their way to where he had stashed Wolverine's motorcycle. "I owe you, anyway." He added, lamely.

"Good."

Laura mounted the vehicle first, and then motioned to Scott to sit behind her. Resisting temptation, Scott made sure his hands settled on his seat.

"I advise you to wrap your arms around my waist."

"W-What?" Scott squeaked as his face erupted with color. He was glad Laura could not see him because that truly would be embarrassing. The shame might even turn him into a supervillain. "Is this proper?"

"Yes. If you do not hold onto me, you will fall." Laura stated with absolute certainty.

Scott decided to heed Laura's warning and, although his heart continued to thunder in his chest, wrapped his arms securely around her.

Scott had a feeling that Laura was as socially awkward as he was, so she really couldn't know what it was she was saying, and the effect it had on him when a pretty young woman like her said it.

Really, what a crazy day this had been for Scott. It started with him wishing for some peace and quiet so he could contemplate the situation that he found himself in, and ended with him finding a friend in an unusual girl.

That was just life, he supposed.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"You may tighten your grip."

"Huh?"

"You might fall."

"I think I'm fine like this." His grip was plenty tight enough. Any tighter, and he'd be molding his front against her back.

"…if you say so."

She gunned the engine and took off full throttle.

Scott didn't know why, but it felt like Laura was intentionally over-speeding and cutting corners on their return trip to the school.

But that was just the hormones talking, right?

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN:_** I know the transition between the first and second part is weird. The first part was written ages ago—before last December, even—when I was trying to figure out how Tyke-23 could work while, y'know, actually keeping them—and especially Laura—in character. I then promptly put its writing on hiatus because _life_.

(Relatively) Recently, _warfolomei_, _Ihklan_, and I brainstormed a proper Tyke-23 story over at my FFNet forum, **_Just In Space_**, specifically at the **_Shuffle or Boogie Discussion_** section. Rather than discard the old writing, I decided to use it as an intro.

I'm just throwing out this teaser now hoping someone would pick up the idea.

So, are you interested in writing a Tyke-23 story and have the time to finish it? Contact me now and/or join the discussion if you want more ideas!


	7. The Demon on My Right Shoulder

**_A/N:_** Trying to get the juices flowing again.

* * *

><p>The Demon on My Right Shoulder<p>

* * *

><p>It started with a strangely shell-shocked Scott Summers stumbling out of the kitchen.<p>

Not the adult one—he was nigh unflappable—but the time-displaced teen Cyclops-counterpart.

A concerned Laura was immediately by his side, shortly followed by a questioning teen Jean and a curious Kitty.

"It's older-me and Professor Rasputin." The young Scott absently murmured; Kitty and the young Jean stiffened in response—not that the young Scott noticed as he continued, "They're both making food and…"

"Yes?" Laura prompted after his abrupt pause.

"They're so… _chummy_." He finally managed to find the words to describe what it was that stupefied him. "Incredibly so. Is—is there something going on between them…?"

"_Not when I'm around_." Kitty seethed and angrily marched off towards the kitchen.

_That_ jolted the young Scott out of his daze.

"_Scott! Illyana! Whatever it is you two are up to, I swear that-_"

"Wait, Professor K! They said-"

Kitty was suddenly engulfed in bright light before disappearing.

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…So…?" The young Jean broke the silence.

"Let's go bring her back." The young Scott recommended. "We're not allowed to enter the kitchen."

"What exactly are older-you and Professor Rasputin doing?"

Laura visibly sniffed before concluding, "Cooking."

"Yeah." The young Scott nodded resolutely. "_Cooking_."

-0-0-0-

Inside the kitchen, Scott glanced over his shoulder towards his unperturbed companion.

"You know…" He began, setting the pepper grinder back on the counter. "She will be furious with you when she returns."

Illyana Rasputin—seated on the chair, its back facing him, with her arms resting atop its frame—tilted her head with an air of aloofness. She had taken up that spot minutes before—when she stumbled upon the cooking leader while retrieving a glass of water. Since then, she had occupied her time with helping him cook while staring, unbeknownst to the oblivious man, at the chiseled muscles of his taut rear.

"Kitty has been furious about many things lately," Illyana remarked uncaringly, "at times for reasons incommensurate with her fury or even unwarranted."

"And tossing her to…?"

"A high mountain nearby." Illyana helpfully supplied.

"…isn't that warranted?"

"Perhaps. But she has no business barging in on my…" Illyana trailed; whether in concentration at her appointed task or to deliberate a word, Scott was uncertain. "…_business_."

"_Illyana…_"

"Don't worry so much." She chided the seasoned X-Man. "I'll retrieve her if she isn't back after we've finished. Now, where were we?"

"…Carrots."

The plate beside him lit up as numerous blue discs appeared and segmented the carrots.

-0-0-0-

"_Scott is with Illyana?_" Emma Frost grit out in disbelief when she heard the news from the trio. "This is bad. This is _very_ bad."

"I agree!" Jeen raised her hand emphatically. "Professor Frost, you _must_ do something!"

Emma fell uncharacteristically silent and stared at the earnest redhead _hard_.

"Professor?"

"…_Ms. Grey_." Emma drawled, her cultured voice sounding more snobbish, "I have stared into death's eyes until it flinched more times than I have fingers. I have watched as empires crumbled. I have buried children with my own two hands. I have _threatened_ and dared command the Phoenix Force."

"What's this?" The Snow Princess, Bobby Drake, piped in with a mouth filled with chips. "Are you just trying to tell us you're old?"

Emma glared at the clown, and Bobby actually felt parts of him _melt_.

"Girls, if you would be so kind."

"**_Yes, mother_**." The Cuckoos acquiesced in-sync before resuming their discussion.

"What are—_oh, suddenly, I feel like watching a show colloquially known as '2 Girls 1 Cup'_." The Snow Princess blinked. "Wait, what does 'colloquial' even mean? And what's '2 Girls 1 Cup'?"

Abruptly, Bobby stood up and searched for Hank's computer.

"Thank you, girls." Emma nodded at her daughters and then returned her attention to the confused Grey. "As I have said, I have put up with a great many events and remained as I am. _Diamond_."

"And how does that…"

Emma clawed Jeen's face and squeezed both her cheeks with one hand.

"_Illyana Rasputin frightens me_." The White Queen shamelessly admitted.

"_But-_" Jeen attempted to protest.

"_A-bu-bu-bu_." Emma chided her into silence. "_Illyana Rasputin frightens me_ and there is no way in _hell_ I'm getting in between her and whatever she is up to."

Emma released Jeen.

"You will soon learn that there are more dreadful horrors in this world, Ms. Grey, than are dreamt up in your fears and nightmares. One example just happens to be with Scott, currently."

-0-0-0-

"I'm honestly impressed by the degree of your control." Scott praised her while pouring the finely chopped carrots into the stew.

"I'm still impressed you can cook." Illyana returned in her usual tepid tone. "I thought it would kill us; imagine my surprise when it was good."

Scott shrugged. "I'm only decent. I thought I'd kill myself too when I started, but you know what they say: what doesn't kill you-"

"Only gives you diarrhea." Illyana finished with a grin.

Once more, Scott paused and stared at the grinning mutant. "…right_. That._" He sighed. "Anyway, I'm almost done here. I think you should retrieve Kitty."

"Is that an order, Scott?" Illyana leered.

"It's a suggestion." Scott clarified smoothly. "Kitty really _will_ be furious at you."

"And I should retrieve her because…?"

"Kitty's been under a lot of stress lately." Scott explained, absently stirring the stew he was cooking. "It would ease off the tension. It'd make her happier."

Illyana scoffed at the thought. Resolutely, she declared, "When the dilemma arises, I am not so benevolent as to choose another's happiness over mine."

Scott could understand those sentiments so perfectly that it was uncanny. _Unsettling_, even. "Friendships are to be treasured."

Illyana shook her head. "I do not want fair-weathered friends."

"You're very strong to think that way, Illyana."

"I grew up where I grew up in the manner I grew up in." She answered cryptically.

Scott was aware of Illyana's inner conflict.

While Illyana could dream of a life where she was never brought to Limbo, so could Illyana see that Limbo was not all bad. Amidst all the strife, Illyana had also made friends and loyal followers—demons that would quite literally die for her if she asked, and she gained abilities that had kept both herself and her friends alive on more than one occasion.

Maybe _that_ was why she felt she was damned—because a small part of her knew and accepted that Limbo was not all bad; that there was goodness that still existed in hell.

It was truly biased to judge Illyana solely against the usual moral precepts.

_And yet…_

"You still have a long life ahead of you." Scott continued. "Your strength will isolate you if you flaunt it."

Illyana closed her eyes and tilted her head backwards, deliberating Scott's advice. She knew he was speaking from experience.

Scott, after all, was a walking pillar of regret.

_But still…_

Illyana appeared at his side in a flash of blue light.

"Is that such a bad thing?" Illyana asked, leaning over the countertop. "I was born with this power; there is no reason I must pull myself back simply because others will feel inferior." She told him—gazing up at him with eyes that Scott found were filled with innocent clarity. "I am only being true to myself. Though we entered this world in the same manner, none of us are, by any means, equal. We are, after all, individuals. My only responsibility is to see myself to my full potential."

"That is selfish." Scott pointed out kindly. "Potatoes."

"It is the truth." Illyana shrugged nonchalantly and proceeding cutting the potatoes with her mutant gift. "How much happiness has living for others brought you?"

Illyana smiled when Scott remained silent—reflecting. "I am happy." She declared.

"So you say…" Scott began and turned to her, a feeling of fulfillment tugging the corner of his lips upward when he arrived at his answer. "But I prefer living my life like so. Doing my part so that another won't have to live the lives we did… it's enough. Just like you, I've made my choice."

"Martyr complex."

"Blame it on my upbringing."

Illyana leaned on his shoulder, her eyes drooping to stare at the pot.

"Altruism is dead."

"Death implies it was once alive." Scott pointed out. "Altruism never existed."

"You sound so very jaded."

"I've come to realize that everyone's just doing what they want."

"Except for you." Illyana pointed out. "Xavier's first puppet. Even now, you dance like a marionette swaying to the symphony of his whims."

"You make it sound as if his teachings are all I know."

"Am I wrong?"

At that, Scott actually smirked. "He never taught me to cook."

Life did.

Necessity did.

"So he didn't." Illyana pushed herself off the backrest she had been leaning on before stretching—delighting in all the muscles pulled loose. "That is a relief."

A spoon appeared in Illyana's grasp and she scooped a sample of Scott's stew. Blowing on it once, she pressed the spoon against her lips and tasted it.

"You need more spice, Scott." She commented and offered the spoon up to his lips. "See?"

Scott took the offering and found that Illyana was right.

"It seems I do, Illyana." He murmured. "It seems I do."

They both waited patiently as life stewed.

-0-0-0-

"Don't do it, Jean!" Teen Scott yelled. "Don't do it!"

The redhead ignored the warning.

"Raaargh!"

A blue light engulfed the charging redhead and she disappeared.

"…"

"…"

"Laura?"

"Yes, Scott?"

"Do you want to help me go get Professor K and Jean?"

"…In a moment." Laura said. "The stew is almost finished."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Omake:<em>** Dimension Cutter

"You know, I think this is a bad idea." A nameless SHIELD officer told his superior, Maria Hill.

"And why is that?"

"Magik knows that we have the X-Men are helping us detain Scott Summers and _still_ she came alone."

"Your point?"

"I… well…" The nameless SHIELD officer tried to explain before finally giving up. "It's just a gut feeling, ma'am."

"Gut feelings cannot be trusted. Facts, are. We have the entire staff of the Jean Grey School—the X-Men, experts on the capabilities of these terrorists and… _and_…" The SHIELD director's brows knit, "Agent, where is this opera music coming from?"

Indeed, ominous opera chanting filled the helicarrier.

"I don't know, ma'am."

Down below, the JGS staff also looked at each other in confusion.

"Am I the only one hearing an opera song?" Wolverine glanced at his companions.

"No, I do, too." Storm said before turning to the team's telepaths. "Rachel? Betsy?"

"It's not telepathy." Psylocke reported.

"It has a catchy melody, though." Rachel commented as a piano riff set in.

The team collectively chose to ignore it and the beat that followed.

"Illyana, step down." Storm demanded.

"I am not in the mood for niceties today." Illyana glared. "Return Scott, and none of you will die."

"Kid," Wolverine began in a patronizing tone. "You _know_ you can't kill us if you wanted to. Let's not do this before you get hurt."

In response, numerous narrow discs of blue light erupted on the gathered mutant's bodies, segmenting their bodies and teleporting their parts to numerous locations.

"I did not ask for your guesswork."

**_Do the impossible, see the invisible._**

**_Row, row, fight the power!_**

"You move outside these discs, you die." Illyana stated in a chilling tone. "I close these discs, _you die_."

**_Touch the untouchable, break the unbreakable._**

**_Row, row, fight the power!_**

"Now, _give me Scott_."

**_Row, row, FIGHT THE POWER!_**


	8. She Who Watches the Multiverse Die

**_A/N:_** Lost momentum towards the end. This one's mostly for set-up.

* * *

><p>Crisis on Infinite Cyclops Daughters: She Who Watches the Multiverse Die<p>

* * *

><p>She had every detail all planned out.<p>

She truly had.

No matter what some would say, it was not an impulse that fueled her decision to use McCoy's time-machine. No matter the excuses others would make for her in their attempt to comprehend why she did what she did, it was not grief over her father's sudden death nor rage at her mother's haunting mistake that brought her here.

She was better-trained than that.

Hers was a purely scholarly agenda: she _needed_ to know what made this world so different that new mutants were born.

So she had suited up in her standard gear and… _acquired _additional weaponry from Old Man Stark. She knocked out McCoy when she snuck into his lab to use the time-machine, and she knocked _out _McCoy again when she arrived in her chosen world and time.

She made haste before anybody else could be alerted. With as much knowledge, skill, and technology she had, she was under no illusion that her biggest asset was _surprise_.

It was the element of surprise that allowed her to takedown all the vigilantes she found lounging in Avengers Mansion—one of the places she knew she could access the most information while leaving hardly a trace.

For this mission, she _needed_ to be a ghost.

And like a ghost, she struck, and while the Avengers had an answer for how the X-gene was repowered, they did not have the answer to the resulting question that followed: _why did the Phoenix Force appear here and not in her reality when both contained a Hope Summers?_

There was a piece missing and she knew where to get the next one.

After much internal debate, she made her decision and steeled herself.

She needed to speak with this world's version of her father—an apparent terrorist according to the Avenger's records. Of course, she did not completely believe that which sounded like an opinion—such as labels.

If there was one thing her father had instilled in her, it was that _one person's terrorist is another's freedom fighter_. The world, hard as one might wish, was _never_ black and white; only a childish mind could perceive it as such.

Thus, meticulously, _obsessively_, she made plans upon plans.

She made plans for every scenario she could conceive, and executed them, all so she could kidnap this world's version of her father. After all, if he truly was a terrorist, then maybe she could reform him without outside interference—_after_ a thorough interrogation.

This choice, she could admit, was driven by emotion. It was a compulsion; a duty she needed accomplish in memory of a great man that was her late father.

_Cyclops_.

_Scott Summers._

And thus, she had begun.

She activated the transmitter in her customized visor, and waited.

True enough, Cerebro had found her and her father appeared with his team.

The first one to go was the teleporter, Magik.

She remembered this woman vividly; her teacher in the darker aspect of the mystic arts. While she had not the talent to become Sorceress Supreme, her skill was adequate while her knowledge was vast. A quick distraction to disorient the X-Men and a triple-layered low-leveled binding spell later, Magik was out for, by her estimate, the next thirty minutes.

More than enough time—especially since, with her pride wounded, Magik would not think logically and would forego traveling to the past to pre-empt her.

The next was that new mutant she discovered in the Avengers database—the one called Tempus.

The Australian mutant's power was at an alarming threat-level, and her inexperience only made her that much harder to predict.

She had to take the initiative. It was just like a dance; she slipped through their defensive formation and scripted Eva Bell's movements for her and, _just like that_, Tempus was down.

At that moment, she was already within the range where her anti-telepathy shields were ineffective; a trade-off for the sentimental aesthetic she had chosen for her headpiece. Still, it was no matter for the Cuckoos were still disoriented at how swiftly their biggest hitters were defeated, and she had capitalized on it.

It was at that point when the truism that no good plan survives first contact proved itself.

A flash of color made her leap back just as two women smashed the spot she had been on.

_Emma Frost_, she had quickly noted the woman in all her diamond glory, _And Ruby_.

She recalled reading the scarce intel the Avengers had on her apparent _half-sister_ from a different timeline.

The follow-up came as expected. The White Queen ducked low with a leg sweep intent on keeping her off-balanced while Ruby leaped over her alleged mother in a full-tackle—likely banking on her considerable durability to keep her down.

It was a good effort, she supposed. There was not enough data on Ruby's attack pattern so she really could neither predict how well the mother-daughter duo fought together nor how strong Ruby was.

Fortunately, she had thought up this scenario: where powers she had not fully grasped presented itself. Thus, she was not surprised—and that made all the difference in this skirmish.

She adapted swiftly—she had flipped backwards with one hand, kicking Ruby high up in the air while her other hand flew to her visor and pressed the trigger. At once, a beam of red slammed into the stunned White Queen and the recovering Cuckoos.

Needless to say, the small clan of Frosts were mostly out.

"I've had enough of this." Her father had angrily declared and she could only inwardly grin at what was coming. "This ends _now_."

It was then when the moment she had been waiting for arrived. Had she not been in her battle mindset, she would have grinned.

Her father was _furious_ and no doubt would attempt to end the fight before it got further out of hand. Predictably, he reached for his mask and pulled it back, unleashing a beam of pure red destruction upon her, much too fast for her to dodge at this range…

Not that she had any plans on doing so.

She had then stood up to her full height and allowed her father's optic blast to consume her.

And, just like that, her gear was recharged back to full power.

Such was her parent's gift.

Her suit, made of specialized synthetic material, metabolized cosmic energy such as her father's far faster than even his body could. Effectively, not only was she immune to various forms of cosmic energy, she could do as she wanted with the power she absorbed—such as use her father's energy to recharge her discs.

It was a gift she was given when she was accepted into S.W.O.R.D.—when she proved to herself and to her parents that, even without any mutant gift, with only hard-work and a determined will, she would be _strong_. Key pieces of her suit were designed by both Old Man Stark, Dr. Pym, Reed, and her father to harness cosmic energy and turn it into the weapon of her choice.

It had never failed her.

Her father's assault had ceased when he realized that she _didn't_ budge. As she had predicted, her father would need a second to comprehend just what happened to his optic blast, and she took full advantage of that second.

After swiftly setting her output to maximum while disabling her limiter, she had then returned fire—and ignored the crack she heard signifying that the disc—her ammunition—broke.

_Everything became red_.

Still, she did not relent. She had seen her father stagger—he did not fall.

The battle flowed just as she predicted. She knew that her father would not fall to her optic blast. Even if not as quickly as her augmented suit, her father could still metabolize the cosmic energy and minimize the force of his blast.

That was the reason why she had rushed him just as he tried to recover.

She had leapt, fist cocking backwards and an apology escaping her lips, all in preparation to pummel him into unconsciousness and take him away when yet another unexpected foe arrived.

A small blonde girl with glacial blue eyes had abruptly appeared between her and her target.

Still, she continued. Diverting more power into her suit, she stomped on the ground before the blonde _hard_ and swung with all her might—with all the strength that had once sent even the Hulk flying when they fought, never even thinking of holding back because, after all, the girl must have been durable if she could survive 5 Giga Watts at ground zero.

Her bones in her fist _broke_ upon contact with the girl's face.

"_You think you'll take atyets from me?_" The unflinching girl spat. In the blonde's hand, a _Soulsword _ignited. "_I think not_."

And, just like that, the tide had turned and drowned her.

-0-0-0-

"Eleonora…" Scott tested the woman's name. He glanced at the silent young woman seated across him and took in her defeated features. "Are you… how are you feeling?"

"…" She stared at him with dull chocolate eyes.

"I suppose I'll have to cut to the chase." He began. "I don't appreciate your assault on my team but I cannot really fault you."

It seemed the telepaths had peered into her mind while she was unconscious.

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…do you have a place to stay?"

She could not stop herself.

Her eyes glistened at her father's caring words.

"…_no_…"

"…this is awkward." Scott smiled at her sheepishly.

"…_sorry_…"

"It's alright, Elle." He comforted her—oblivious to the worsening effect his words had on his daughter's inner turmoil; it only reminded her more of her departed father. "It's alright. One step at a time. You wouldn't be the first of my line that's tried to kill me. Here, come. Let's go back to the others."

The tall brunette wordlessly followed him out the door.

It seemed she truly was still driven by her emotions.

Truly, she still was her mother's daughter.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Omake:<em>** You, too?

Ruby stared at Elle.

Elle stared back.

"So…" Ruby thoughtfully began, "I call dibs on dad. He died in my timeline too, after all."

"Can't we just, I don't know, settle this in a fairer manner?"

Ruby snorted—an act that caused the nearby Emma to inwardly swear at how Scott knew _nothing_ of how to raise a proper woman—and rolled her eyes beneath her shades. "Little girl, you're really naïve, aren't you?"

"Can't you speak two sentences without being condescending?" Elle rolled her eyes. "And for the record, I only want to get information from Scott."

"I made three, and you and I know that reason's bull." Ruby fired back nonplussed. In the background, Emma choked on her drink at Ruby's rough language. "Anyway, Ana's been stalking dad since she arrived. I'm thinking you and I could tag-team her."

Elle nodded her head affirmatively; the diminutive Ana was a formidable obstacle. "I'm listening."

"It's elementary, really. One of us distracts Ana while the other spends time with dad. Given our mutual background, I don't mind sharing him with you."

With those words spoken, a pact was made and a quest had begun.

Both Ruby and Elle would look back on that time with both a grimace and regret at having unleashed the little horror that was Anastasia Rasputin-Summers.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: _**If ever I was gonna write a serious story about Ana and Elle, I wanted to explore the theme of superiority and jealousy. I'll post the profiles I constructed so many months ago for Ana and Elle in my _Just In Space_ forum in due time but, the tl;dr is as follows:

Eleonora Maximoff-Summers was born without any powers despite testing positive for the X-gene. Although both her parents were fine with that, Elle took it upon herself to prove her strength even without her parent's abilities.

On the other hand, Anastasia Rasputin-Summers became overpowered as soon as her powers manifested. She absorbed her father's ability to absorb cosmic radiation but, instead of turning it into optic blasts, it made her invincible. Like the Juggernaut, she does not need to eat, sleep, or even breathe. Think Incorruptible's _Max Damage_ but trade sleep for radiation. To make matters worse, she developed a secondary mutation from her mother's lineage: organic metal armor that increases her already immense strength and durability further. As if that was not enough, Illyana's strict teaching and her own prodigious talent made her a master of the mystic arts even at her young age.

Naturally, Elle is jealous that Ana—_this child_—not only made all her years of effort meaningless, but also has everything she ever wanted. It would be the conflict between them.

I recall that superiority and jealousy were themes of the old X-Men; the idea where mutants, by simply being born, can do things that normal humans would need to devote their years learning. How would Elle cope with this harsh reality while she is already in a fragile state?

But, again, that's if ever I was gonna write a serious story with these two.


	9. What Lurks Beneath A Bridge?

**_A/N:_** Was minding my own business (see: procrastinating) in the CBR forums when this idea hit.

An omake to an omake, I suppose, since this scene doesn't fit in _Distant World_.

* * *

><p>Single-Awareness Day:<p>

_What Lurks Beneath A Bridge?_

* * *

><p>It was almost midnight in the pub when the manly chatter between strangers was abruptly interrupted.<p>

"What's that sound?" The inebriated man asked his comrade-in-drink.

Scott Summers sighed as he raised his head from the hardwood of the pub's bar. "That'd be my phone."

"Thought you said you had no one." The man's eyes narrowed and he hiccupped. "What happened to _lone wolves_?"

Scott opened his mouth, but a guttural belch exited before he could stop it. His companion chuckled in amusement, and the mutant ran his hand through his brown locks sheepishly.

"I don't got none." Scott finally slurred.

"Bull, man. Nobody who's got none gets a call at this hour." He argued with all his years of experience.

Scott shrugged before taking another swig off his drink. "Like I said, _I don't got none_. This is something else…" The mutant trailed as his mental faculties slowly returned to him. "This is an alarm."

"Is that some kinda code now?" The man asked bitterly.

Finally sober—or at least, as close to sober one could be after twenty pints of hard beer without a healing factor—Scott leveled his ruby-hidden gaze at his drinking companion.

"_I'm right, ain't I?_" The man continued. "You got a kitty aimin' to scratch the pole, yeah?"

A thought occurred to the former X-Man.

Scott nodded to himself and leaned forward conspiratorially.

"_Tell you what…_"

-0-0-0-

Like a falling cat, Ororo Munroe descended from the darkened heavens and landed gracefully in the dark, empty alley with full certainty that nobody saw her arrival. She straightened her overcoat and strode towards the street.

:.: Rachel, I have landed. :.: Ororo informed her telepathic observer. :.: Can you confirm that Scott is here? :.:

:.: He is. :.: Came her colleague's reply.

:.: Good. Maintain silence until I have finished. :.:

:.: Ororo… :.:

:.: I will not harm him. :.: Ororo reassured. Feeling it safe, she crossed the street and entered the pub. :.: But I _will_ bring him back one way or another. :.:

It was a standard pub, albeit one that looked better kempt than most. Ororo supposed it had to do with how few patrons there were.

Which was fortunate happenstance. It shouldn't be too hard to spot Scott in this crowd.

The former _queen consort_ walked with deliberate steps, her heels softly thudding against the hardwood flooring. She pointedly ignored the varying looks she drew from the after-midnight drinkers as she sought her once-leader.

Her rhythmic footfalls abruptly stopped when she reached the back, and it took all her willpower not to gape incredulously at what she saw.

As it turned out, it wasn't too difficult to find him.

He was decked out in his full uniform, after all.

"S-…Scott?" She asked, hesitantly, the bizarreness of the situation striking her. She had fully expected Scott would do his best _not_ to stand out.

She was met with Cyclops' hidden gaze. "Ororo, yeah?"

Ororo's brows knitted. "What happened to your voice?"

"Come, come! Have a seat!" Cyclops invited, scooting inward and patting the spot next to him. To her disgust, Cyclops let loose belch, and it was only when he downed another mug of beer when she saw the damage on the table. "And I only had a couple'a glasses, s'don't worry 'bout me, luv."

"I…I see." Ororo steeled herself and swallowed her hesitations. She wasn't certain if stumbling upon a drunk Cyclops was a blessing from her _Goddess_ or otherwise. Still, she wouldn't squander this chance—and she'd seen more disgusting drunks, anyway—so she took up his offer. Well, mostly; she opted for the spot across the table from him.

"Ah, well." Cyclops sighed—and in the process, Ororo could smell all the alcohol and, ugh, halitosis in his breath. "Can't win 'em all, I s'ppose."

Goddess! Just how far had Scott let himself go?

"Grab a drink, luv." Cyclops urged his companion, taking a mug-filled with frothy drink with his other hand and offering it to her with a _smile_. "Trust. It'll make you feel muuuuch better."

"No thank you." Ororo declined politely. "Why are you in uniform?"

Cyclops looked at himself. "S'that what this is?" He slurred before grinning. "Well, s'like this: when two of us-types get together, you'd best prepare for some kinda reckonin'." He wagged his eyebrows as if punctuating.

Ororo nodded and smiled inwardly. It seemed there _still_ was a part of the Scott Summers she knew lurking in the drunkard before her.

The thought brought her no small amount of relief.

"You're still lookin' a bit tense there, luv." Cyclops commented, chest jumping as he stifled yet another burp. He grinned easily. "Y'know it's bad manners not to take the first drink offered to ya in a pub, right?"

The former queen consort smiled. She supposed this was just an olive branch she would accept. "Very well." She took the mug and tasted the drink. "Oh!" Ororo exclaimed when she felt her vision shake. "That's… that's really good."

"I know, right?" Cyclops agreed. "This place has got the best!"

Ororo saw her chance. With a gentle nod, she prodded, "Do you come here often?"

"Only when I'm down." Cyclops replied and then suddenly turned sullen. "Which seems to be a lot, lately…" He mumbled.

Ororo smiled at him sympathetically, feeling guilty for the position he found himself in. "I can imagine. How have you been holding up since…?"

"With a drink and a smile, 'Ro." And smile, Cyclops did, albeit one whose sadness touched her heart. "Been lost for a while, y'know? But what else is a guy s'pposed to do but keep on hopin', am I right…?"

The guilt grew deeper. Ororo wisely decided to give him this moment while she, herself, stewed.

They had all felt Scott's absence. Loathe as she was to admit, when the troubles began anew, they needed Scott unflappable leadership—his ability to remain calm and, in doing so, put things back to focus to piece together a plan. The role of headmistress and de facto leader of the X-Men was a larger headache than she remembered as nobody seemed to listen to her.

And then, _that_ happened. Months after hearing _nothing_ from Scott—of the _expectation_ that they would inevitably hear from the exiled X-Man, betrayed—that all the stress piled up into one explosive encounter, figuratively _and_ literally.

They had expected him to show up once more—surely, even no matter how he was feeling, Scott would not let the most recent tragedy to mutantkind go, right?

But, once more, their expectation was betrayed as he never appeared. The months-old routine started and they began casting stones at Scott's name. To their utmost shame, it was a student that pointed out how broken a record they were when, even in self-imposed exile, they _still_ continued to blame him.

The comment stung, but it was enough to make Ororo think.

And in Ororo's reminiscence, she realized that they were not the only ones that grieved the late professor's passing: Scott was, too.

It was as if his departure woke them up from a long sleep.

Promptly, they began to search for him and, while much more difficult than they had initially thought, they finally managed to find him earlier this evening. In a stroke of serendipity, Illyana had appeared and they conscripted her help.

Limbo's ruler appeared all-too-happy to teleport one person somewhere close enough to Scott's location.

Ororo took it as a sign from her _Goddess_, and promptly volunteered to bring Scott back.

And from the way he appeared, it seemed like it would be easy to convince him to return, too…

"So what brings you way out here, 'Ro?" Cyclops asked after he managed to collect himself.

Ororo smiled at him gently. "I'm here to take you home." She told him sincerely, opting to forego more idle chatter.

Cyclops raised an eyebrow. "Izzat so?"

"Yes." She nodded, eyes turning even more kind. "I know our last meeting wasn't on the best of terms…" Cyclops _snorted_, but Ororo pointedly ignored his drunken mannerism. "But you and I know we were both wrong. All I'm asking is… can we start over again?"

Cyclops sighed before emptying yet another mug. "You must think I'm easy." He accused self-deprecatingly. "I mean, I'm pretty much a slob by this point. Rich, but not where it counts."

"Never." Ororo reassured, leaning forward before taking his free hand in hers to give it a gentle squeeze. "I know I've—we've hurt each other for so long, but I'm here to set things right again."

"S'not going to be so easy. I need… _proof_." He took her hand in hers, leaning forward as well. "Dem's pretty words but…" He trailed, suddenly looking smaller than she had ever seen, before whispering, "I need _something I can believe in_."

"Name it." She urged him, feeling his hot breath against her lips—

Her eyes snapped open when Cyclops _continued_ to lean in. She barely managed to shove him back before his lips touched hers.

"_What are you doing!_" Ororo exclaimed, outraged at his gall.

"Getting our relationship back." Cyclops snapped back; it was clear he was put off by the sudden rejection. "Ain't that why you're here, luv?"

"Yes! No!" Ororo grimaced. "I mean, _not like that_."

"Oh, I see." Cyclops nodded. He grabbed her hand and pulled her over the table, ignoring the mess he made as all the glasses fell and drinks were spilled, and stabilized her by placing his other hand on her shoulder.

Ororo became flustered when his face was suddenly close to hers once more.

"You're just here for the Dee, right?" Cyclops grinned. "Well, I'm down with that. Let's skip the foreplay and head straight to the forking."

The hand on her shoulder slid down to squeeze her ass.

"You jerk!" Ororo raged and slapped him with all her strength.

Cyclops fell off his seat and onto the floor; her blow strong enough, even that his visor flew true to strike the far wall—

"_Oh no!_" Ororo gasped in horror at the inevitable. In futility, she shouted, "Scott, don't open your eyes!"

"What the hell, you horny bitch!" Cyclops exclaimed as he glared at her with his…_blue eyes_?

Ororo stared as the drunken Cyclops(?) picked himself off the floor.

"Honestly, birdy, I'm getting mixed signals here. Are you or are you not here for my big Dee?"

"I…" Ororo spluttered, her mind struggling to form a coherent thought. "I…you… you're not… Scott?"

"I'm Scott." The man… _Scott_, said. "_Prescott Phoenix_. Friends call me 'Scott'. Happy to meet you, luv."

"Prescott?" Ororo repeated disbelievingly.

"I know, I know." He waved and went on to what Ororo felt like was a practiced response. "Silly name, but my 'rents weren't too imaginative. Love 'em, but, well, they're not _too_-imaginative."

"You're… _someone else_…" The reality of the situation finally sank. It took all of Ororo's willpower not to lash out—although the other patrons did jump at the sudden clap of thunder outside. "_Why are you dressed like that?_" She hissed.

Prescott shrugged carelessly; he was fucked, but not in the way he wanted. What else was new? "The other dude said it'd help me get laid."

The admission grabbed Ororo's attention, stalling the storm brewing outside. "The _other_ guy?"

"Your ex." He explained, pulling back the cowl of his costume to reveal curly raven hair. "Good buddy, him. Only met him t'night but the dude's all-sorts of awesome; _really_ good listener, him." He nodded happily in remembrance. "He said nobody looking for him'd be able to tell us apart s'long as I wore the suit."

It offended Ororo that Scott actually thought they didn't know him enough to pick him from an impostor!

Prescott suddenly looked thoughtful. "Come to think, with how you reacted, guess he was tellin' the truth that you weren't his ex."

"The other guy…" Ororo glared, her body trembling with barely suppressed outrage. "Where _is_ he?"

"He left."

That was all Ororo needed.

Storm stormed out the pub in fury, ignoring Prescott's calls and all the other patrons' looks.

:.: Rachel, are you there? :.: Storm thought intensely.

It took a moment, but Rachel finally replied, :.: What is it? :.:

:.: I've been duped. Scott's not here. :.: She harshly informed the telepath. :.: You lied to me. You said Scott was here. :.:

:.: He was. :.: Rachel said. :.: But he disappeared sometime after you entered. :.:

This time, a thunderstorm _did _brew as Storm's temper blew. :.: And you didn't think to inform me?! :.:

:.: You told me to maintain silence. :.: Rachel sent the impression of a shrug for good measure. :.: Anyway, I managed to catch up with him while you were busy. :.:

:.: _Scott is there! _:.: Ororo's response was meant to be a question, but it morphed into an accusation through her anger. :.: Why is he there?! :.:

:.: He's not here anymore. :.: Rachel informed. :.: Illyana took him back to… well, they wouldn't tell me. :.:

:.: … :.:

:.: Ororo? You still there? :.:

:.: You and I will exchange words for this, Rachel. :.: Storm finally declared. :.: Soon as I get back. :.:

:.: 'Kay. :.: Rachel replied nonchalantly. :.: I'll see you in six hours. :.:

:.: …I don't suppose you can contact Illyana, can you? :.:

:.: Nope. :.:

Storm sighed before taking off to the skies.

She was really starting to _hate_ the Summers blood.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Omake:<strong>_ The Suit

"You're shitting me." Prescott looked at Scott skeptically. "You want me to wear what?"

"This suit. I'll have you know that it works like a charm." Scott defended.

"It's... it's suggestive s'what it is." The thing looked like a giant blue condom. "You sure this works?"

"I think so." Scott scratched the back of his head. "I mean, it's the only thing that makes sense."

"Huh?"

"Well, I think this is the reason I've got a... a space god, I suppose, stalking me. Among other... people." That was the best way Scott could explain the Phoenix Force to a layman. "Y'know what? _Look_." Scott pulled out a bunch of photos from _somewhere_.

"Woah!"

"From a scale of one-to-ten, how would you rate her?"

"Blonde bombshell!"

"And her?"

"Red-_hawt_."

"And _her?_"

"Eh? The tattoos look a bit weird but I'd do her."

"Tattoos?" Scott looked at the picture and cringed at who he accidentally pulled out. He pocketed Rachel's picture. "Er, forget her."

"What about the space god?"

"It kinda... body jumps?"

"Woah. That's hot." Prescott praised. "Think it'll possess some space-chick sometime soon? I'd dig me some space-booty at least once in my life. So long as she doesn't got some space-STI 'course."

"It's... a possibility."

"Alright. I'm in."

"For the space-chick?"

Prescott nodded.

"Definitely for the space-chick."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: **_Beware the troll asking for a toll lurking under a bridge!

I had a couple more scenes planned, but I couldn't fit them in while I was typing. I also said I'd try to post this before the weekend's end, and seems I managed it with two hours to spare :D whoop-whoop!

Capibara, I apologize for this transgression. I'll see if I can come up with a proper ScOroro sometime :'D


	10. This Will Be The Day

_**A/N: **_Small change of pace...

* * *

><p>This Will Be The Day<p>

* * *

><p>Noriko Ashida did not expect her reunion with one Joshua Foley would be quite so abrupt. She honestly expected something dramatic—like hauling his ass off from the abandoned island of No One Knows Where during another apocalypse-Tuesday.<p>

The electric mutant felt cheated out an experience when the healer suddenly appeared in the dead of night.

"I need help, Nori." The gold-skinned mutant told his former squad leader, his eyes shifty in his inability to meet her own. He wore a long trench-coat that obscured everything below his neck.

"Where have you been?" Noriko asked expectantly.

"It goes without saying that I _trust_ you." Josh continued and finally mustered the courage to meet her chocolate gaze. There was a blush on his face, and Noriko resisted the urge to reprimand the teenage boy that, _no_, he was not allowed to stare at her breasts. "I trust that what I'm about to reveal remains confidential."

"Where have you been?" Noriko repeated, forehead knitting at his wannabe-spy opening. He was probably watching those Bond movies again.

Or Kingsman.

"I wouldn't go to you if I could help it." Josh explained. "I mean—if I could, I nobody would know. But that's not the case after…" He shuddered.

Noriko rolled her eyes. "Josh, you disappeared without telling us and snuck into my room a year later." She pointed out, sparks of electricity lighting up on her skin reflecting her displeasure. "Be grateful I'm not going all-_Pikachu _on you. Now, before you start demanding _crap_ from me, _I want you to tell me where you've been_."

Josh undid his coat and Noriko was greeted with yet another thing she didn't expect.

"…" The gobsmacked girl gaped. She poked Josh's chest to be sure, and cringed when her finger sank. "_Are those real breasts?_"

Josh's blush deepened. "_Yes_."

The answer knocked the wind from her chest and she fell back onto her bed.

Noriko stared upwards at… him?

"Once again, Josh…" She spoke slowly, her confusion bleeding into quiet outrage, "_Where the hell have you been_?"

Josh palmed his face with both his hands and finally began his embarrassing tale.

"After reburying the bodies in Genosha, well, _I started experimenting with my powers_…"

Noriko resisted the urge to slap her forehead as Josh continued his tale. While not an otaku herself, she knew enough anime to predict where _this_ was going.

"…_and to do so, I needed to concentrate_." Josh continued as he reached the tail-end of his story. "Again, I was experimenting so I thought, y'know, I should go big, right? And, well… ah, _breasts_ were the only thing I could vividly imagine."

Noriko felt her temper surge, but she fought down the urge to pummel him and his stupidity. The mutant came to _her_ for help, after all… "Well, what did you come here for?"

"I need your help." He said. "After this one, I'm kinda afraid of what will happen next. I—I _need_ you to be there in case something goes wrong."

"You do realize that the only thing I _can_ do is bring you to a hospital." There was the _school_, she supposed, but like _hell _was she going back there after _they_ made their great escape. They were no longer children; such a place no longer felt like home.

Indeed, not even the end of the world would make her go back there willingly.

"Yeah, but better to have someone watching, right?"

"…how _did_ you get here, anyway?"

"Chance. I was at the end of my wits, you know? I was making my way to the school since I had no other option, but I overheard a bunch of guys talking about a woman that sounded like you." He explained. "So, I asked them for directions, found your workplace, and trailed you home."

Noriko squinted at him. "That's creepy, you know."

"I couldn't speak with you where there are a lot of people." He raised both his hands apprehensively. "I mean, I had no idea how you'd take…well, _this_." He gestured to his breasts. "So…_yeah_."

"Just to be sure… you were traveling around with _those_ things, right?"

"Yes…"

"Were they jiggling about?"

"…_yes_…"

"Were people staring at you because of it?"

"…"

"Were they, Josh?"

"…_yes_." Josh gritted out through his mortification.

"Good." Noriko smiled, satisfied with vindictive glee. "Alright, I'm your girl. Do your whatever and let's get this over with."

"I'm starting to regret going to you now…"

"Tough." Noriko shrugged carelessly. "Now, do it."

Light shimmered around Elixir as he activated his mutant powers. When the light faded, Noriko pouted.

"Well, that was anticlimactic."

Josh inspected himself quickly before turning to her. "How do I look?"

Noriko shrugged again. "You're still ugly so I guess no power can fix that."

Josh saluted the young woman with the finger.

-0-0-0-

"Hey, Nori." Josh greeted the following morning when the Japanese mutant stumbled out of her bedroom door. He blinked at her; bed-hair must have been a pain if one absorbed all forms of electricity, he supposed.

He'd crack wise about it being genetic, but he was feeling guilty enough as it was…

"Sh." Noriko glared at the now fully-male Elixir seated on the old couch. "No talking until I've had some coffee."

Josh winced. _'Well, that escalated quickly…'_

"Er, about that…"

Noriko's glare hardened at the troublemaker's hesitant tone. "_What did you do?_"

"I- well, I _have_ been out of the loop for a year, and…" He trailed, scratching the back of his head in his embarrassment. When Noriko actually _growled _at him, Josh quickly decided to come clean. "I don't know how to work your coffee machine. I mean, where do you put the beans?"

"Ugh." Noriko once more resisted the urge to fry her friend with a kilowatt bolt. "It doesn't use beans." She gritted out before angrily pointing at the jar on the small kitchen counter. "It uses _those_ cartridges."

Josh frowned. "Well, how was _I_ supposed to know that?"

"You could have just waited." Noriko answered. "Unlike _some_ of us, I don't intend to laze around all-year long."

"I didn't laze around for a year!" Josh declared. "I was going through a lot of stuff, and-"

"Like we weren't going through stuff as well?" Noriko cut him off and folded her arms indignantly.

Josh wisely chose not to reply to her rhetoric. The topic did eat at him—how he was so engrossed in his own pain that he failed to be there for the family he had built.

He sighed and broke their harsh staring. "…I was trying to make you coffee."

Noriko blinked, her gaze softening after his confession. Feeling guilty for blowing what should have been a minor altercation out of proportion, she sighed as well and relaxed her stance.

"It's fine. It's just… well, I got a good deal on it, you know?" She forgave him and approached the coffee maker. "I don't know how much it'll cost to get this thing fixed…" Noriko murmured before quickly shaking her head. "No. I'll just have to get used to having no morning coffee, I guess."

"_Ahem_." Josh cleared his throat, making Noriko spin around. She was surprised to find that he was already behind her. "I may not know a thing about coffee makers, _but…_" Before she could react, he tapped her forehead. "I _do_ know a thing about caffeine's effects."

Instantly, Noriko felt the cobwebs of sleep and fatigue clear. In fact, she felt _more_ than awake; she felt _alive_.

_'Of course.'_ The electric mutant thought, feeling giddy and brimming with energy. '_How could I forget?'_

"You know what, Josh?" Noriko smirked and patted the taller mutant's shoulder. "I'll forget this incident. In exchange, I want you to stay here until I've saved enough to get it fixed."

"And I'm assuming I'll be your _energizer_ in the meantime?" He cheekily added.

Noriko rolled her eyes and stepped away from him. "I know there's an innuendo there, but I'll let it slide because I've given you a hard time already, you pervert." Still, she extended her gauntlet-covered hand. "Anyway, do we have a deal?"

Josh nodded and shook her hand. "Deal."

-0-0-0-

It was during the slow hours in the coffee shop when the manager approached her.

"You okay there, Noriko?" He asked with a tap on the weary-looking teen's shoulder.

"_Hai—_yeah, I'm alright." She answered with a shake of her head and a practiced smile. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He pointed at her head. "Your hair. It's all… _frizzy_."

Noriko quickly glanced at the wall-mirror and frowned at what she saw. Self-consciously, she tried to tame her unruly blue hair. "I'm fine." She gruffly stated.

She was as fine as one could be when one walked home to find Joshua Foley mucking around with his genes _again_.

"Lemme guess," the manager ignored her denial and squinted at her. "Old boyfriend?"

"_No_." She spat. The idea of her and Foley—the guy who was like a kid brother to her… she'd rather kiss Hellion all over again! "But yes, it's a boy." Noriko finally admitted when the manager remained expectant. The Asian mutant thought about her statement before contemplatively adding, "I think."

"You think?" The manager tilted his head before realization dawned on him. "Is he a mutant, too?"

"Yeah." Noriko nodded. "We were in the same class back in the school."

The manager straightened and his eyes glinted with interest. "So someone from the past?" He confirmed.

"Yeah." She nodded again. "He's crashing at my place until he decides what to do next. I just hope he'd actually do something than stay in, though."

"He's welcome to work here, you know." The manager offered with a kind smile. "I mean, I'm always open to a helping hand."

Noriko squinted up at him. "You don't even know him."

He carelessly shrugged and scratched his stubbly chin. "I only _really_ know maybe thirty people in this city. All the rest? Nope."

Noriko found his logic sound. "But he's a mutant just like me."

"The next customer that walks in could have a gun." He wryly replied. "Only difference is, you guys were born with one." He told her sympathetically.

A small smile blossomed on Noriko's lips. She was grateful to this man, truly; he had taken her in after she escaped from the school and all the misery it contained. He offered her a job paying the minimum wage, telling her that she could work her way up if she ever felt so inclined.

Kindness like that… _understanding_ like that was difficult to come by.

And yet, she could not help but caution him, "_It's not that simple._"

"I know." He smiled, his years of experience reflecting in his eyes. "Nothing ever is. _But_. Far as I know, you guys tried to use what you were born with to actually help the world instead of, well, '_avenging' _it, and suddenly the government capes come in to make things worse _again_." The manager recounted with a small frown; he honestly wondered what happened there. "It's frightening, you know, because all they seem to do is just _fight _even when we're all caught in the crossfire. Looking back, I wonder why we used to look up to them…" He trailed before finally giving up that trail of thought with a sigh. He turned to his newest barista. "You guys, though? No matter how little respect you're given, I see now you're all just trying to do good with what you got."

Noriko blushed. She never did expect such a personal account from him. "…Thanks."

"Look, Noriko, I've seen you work. You're a good girl. If you've got a friend that wants to or needs help, I'll see what I can do." He patted the Asian mutant on the shoulder before making his way back to the kitchen. "There's good and bad people everywhere."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: **_Had more sketches planned for this but I couldn't be bothered to type any more. It'll appear some-when down the line.

Basic idea:

Big Sister-Annoying Kid Brother adventures between Surge and Elixir. Elixir experiments with his powers under Surge's watchful eyes. Elixir wants be more than he is while Surge finally puts old ghosts to rest.

Ideas are welcome- either join the discussion in my Just In Space FFNet forum or PM me, I suppose.


	11. Honeymoon Holocaust

_**A/N:**_ Because, you know, superhero wedding cliches...

* * *

><p>Honeymoon Holocaust<p>

* * *

><p>It was strange. One would think that after two past marriages and all the life-or-death struggles in-between, he'd learn to become graceful under pressure.<p>

Scott Summers _knew_ what to do, of course. Walk down the aisle _without _tripping and wait for her at the end—and, of course, pray that she didn't wizen up to how bad a life with him would be. Granted, she _had_ beaten the self-deprecating idea out of him on more than one occasion—even going so far as to _prove_ to him on multiple levels that _he_ was the more-likely to die between the two of them should another apocalyptic Tuesday come 'round—but _still_, Scott could not stop the worry.

After all, he couldn't fully adjust in his first marriage and it ended with Madelyne's madness and subsequent haunting him from beyond the grave. His second ended with Jean dying in his arms before he could make up for his weakness.

Scott liked to think of himself as a competent analyst, and what he saw was a striking trend.

_She_ bopped him hard on the head when, in an anxious episode, he asked if she was real and not some creation by Sinister or some similar such entity. He considered himself fortunate that she was an understanding woman—past the week-long snark and biting deadpan that followed, anyhow.

Placated on the issue of her identity and the twistedly romantic promise that he would die before she did, by her own hands if needed, Scott finally dropped down on one knee and _she said 'yes'_.

Flash-forward to the present, Scott continued to pace about the entrance to the garden. Everything leading up to this point was an incredibly quiet affair by the X-Men's standards.

His team took the proposal well, with Illyana simply breathing a slightly annoyed "_It's about time!_". The rest of the costumed community were also supportive— strange as that felt. Following all of that, their wedding preparations continued with uncannily smooth precision.

The occasional mutant-in-distress did come, but nothing beyond that transpired.

There were no bigots or racists out for blood.

There were no megalomaniacs out for more power.

There were no apocalyptic threats.

_Hell, there was no time-traveling offspring from the future proclaiming doom!_

The utter peacefulness in the days leading up to his third marriage created a very confused and anxious Scott Summers.

_Something_ was going to happen, he was sure. Every cell in his body _knew_ that something was amiss.

As if those thoughts were an incantation, blue light suddenly lit up from the center of the garden.

Scott's hand immediately flew up to his shades and he braced himself for whatever came. Paradoxically, he felt relief wash over him.

"_Brooding again_?"

Scott blinked behind his shades before sighing tiredly. "Nervous." He explained and, after regaining his composure, approached his guest with a warm smile. "I'm glad you could make it, Illyana."

The light died down and unveiled the smirking demon queen. "Time _isn't_ an issue, Scott." She told him. "Now, these abominable heels I was sworn to wear…"

"Couldn't be much different from walking on hooves." Scott remarked while giving her an once-over. He did catch the odd term she used, but decided that maybe Kitty had something to do with it and so he opted against pursuing.

Illyana shrugged. "Hooves bludgeon. These? They're meant for _stabbing_, not walking."

Scott nodded in full agreement. "Well, I'd still like to thank you, Illyana." Illyana tilted her head questioningly, to which Scott continued smugly, "You've just earned me a hundred dollars."

"Oh?"

"Your brother was convinced you would wear the suit."

Illyana scoffed. "I'm your _best woman_. Of course I'd wear a dress." As if to display her full ensemble, the blonde twirled on the spot once before curtsying, gracefully, if somewhat mockingly.

"That's what I told Piotr, but…" He trailed with a shrug and offered her his hand. His next wedding was unorthodox, to say the least. When he and his bride sat down to assign roles for the wedding, they could not imagine a better-suited _best person_ than Illyana.

"I'll have words about making presumptions with brother dearest, yet." She murmured while accepting his gesture, and Scott felt apprehensive at the promise in her tone.

"_After_ today, alright?" Scott bargained.

The slighted blonde narrowed her eyes at the thrice-now-groom-to-be before sighing. "Alright. _After_ today."

This was meant to be a joyous occasion, after all, and the last thing Illyana wanted was for her hulking brother to bawl after she was through with him.

Scott nodded, happy that Illyana was a reasonable woman. "That dress looks good on you." He said, switching topics. "I didn't know you had such a thing."

Illyana chuckled, easily seeing through the compliment. "You mean, you didn't think I possessed such fashion." She translated, withdrawing her hand from his grasp so that she could point at him teasingly.

Scott's cheeks flushed in embarrassment at having been caught. "Guilty." He admitted, knowing better than to lie to _this_ demoness. "But you really do look good."

The smirk on Illyana's lips flattened and the mischief in her cool blue orbs dimmed when she beheld the groom once more. "Are you alright, Scott?"

Seeing her concern, Scott scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Yes. Somewhat…" He pocketed his hands. "It's… it's been a wonderful several weeks."

Illyana nodded to that. "I know."

"If only things could continue like this." Scott murmured wistfully. "It would be… wonderful."

"Yes. Yes it would." The younger mutant agreed—in a tone that seemed, to Scott, venomous.

The groom paused in his steps and turned to his companion. "Is something wrong, Illyana?"

"Sorry." Illyana shook her head. "Just _tired_."

"Oh." Scott paused against, his sharp mind quickly trying to interpret that statement.

Seeing the opportunity, Illyana cleared her throat. "Scott… don't get used to it."

Scott tilted his head. "It?"

Illyana frowned and gestured to the garden around them. "This peacefulness won't last beyond your wedding."

Scott's heart nearly stopped as realization nabbed him in the gut. It sounded impossible—_improbable_, but with her power and skill and cunning…! "Illyana… _what did you do?_"

The accused raised both her hands in the air, like a criminal confronted by a cop, and flashed him an easy smile. "Have you ever seen the movie _Groundhog _Day?" When Scott's face turned white from her confirmation, the devilish mutant's smirk widened. "You did? Good. If it makes you feel any better, what I did, I didn't do alone."

"I… I need a second." Scott staggered, his concerned companion quickly appearing by his side to help him sit slowly down on a nearby bench.

Illyana, in a show of strength, remained standing before him when she pulled back. She truly did enjoy moments like this—when she toppled giants. She waited for her leader with a smirk plastered on her face.

"I…" Scott began after he finally regained his bearings. "I suppose I should thank you… you and your team."

Illyana nodded in acceptance of his gratitude. "It was surprisingly easy to find volunteers."

Scott swallowed in an attempt to wet his suddenly parched throat. "Was anyone killed?"

"Only those that weren't smart enough." Illyana admitted without any shame. At the sharp look he gave her, Illyana decided to add, "But not by me, no. Torture, yes, but I don't find any pleasure when the damned stop screaming."

"I should be disgusted," Scott said, "or at least afraid. But you know what? I just don't care." It was too perfect a day to think through this headache. "I'm pretty sure whatever I say won't get through you, right?"

"I'm a grown woman, Scott." Illyana mocked the former teacher. "I can make big girl decisions."

"Can I ask who else you roped into your crusade?"

Once more proving that she could do the impossible, Illyana's wide grin widened even more. "Let's just say that I've acquired an appreciation for a game of chess."

For the second time that morning, Scott's face blanched. "You _what_? _Them?!_"

"Not all of them." Illyana shook her head. "Black and Red, to name a few women."

Scott palmed his face. "Dare I ask how you convinced _those_ two? My first wife, _especially_?"

"With the promise of food for _Selene_, and the truth for _Maddie_." Illyana explained. Scott couldn't help but inwardly cringe at the affectionate tone Illyana addressed them. "They're both pleasant women to speak with when you get past all the psychoses."

"I'm sure." Scott dryly remarked before narrowing in on what Illyana said about the mother of his child _and_ clone of his second wife..._ 'God,'_ Scott thought, _'how did I live through this insanity?'_ "What did you mean by the truth?"

Scott had a feeling he wouldn't like the next statement to come out of his companion's mouth when Illyana gazed at him patronizingly.

"That no matter who takes your name, you will _always_ belong to us." Illyana explained like a mother would to her brain-damaged child. "I _did_ also promise that they can attend your wedding..."

"_Oh dear god_." Scott grimaced and made preparations for his grave.

"They will be pleasant." Illyana reassured him. "They're all good girls."

Scott shot her a blank look. "I can't help but notice you used the plural form. Did you form a Sisterhood?"

Illyana chuckled at his astuteness. She expected nothing less from this man. "Sisterhood? We prefer the name…_ X-Force_."

Scott pondered the pros and cons of Illyana's decision, and whether or not he should condemn the well-meaning mutant's actions. Eventually, Scott decided to forget the whole thing. Not _just_ because pursuing this matter further would require a year's supply of painkillers, and not _just_ because today was, as he reminded himself, a joyous occasion, but also because, when it came down to it, he still trusted Illyana Rasputin.

The realization was cathartic to the previously panicking groom. With a warm smile on his lips, Scott shook his head and stood up. "You truly are my _best woman_." He commented, gazing down at the mischievous blonde with utmost admiration.

It was amazing how much she had grown since he first met her.

Illyana smirked. "_You ain't never had a friend like me_." She quoted and extended her arm towards him. "Now, let's get you inside and start this wedding before your bride develops the common sense to run away."

Scott gave her a manly pout.

"Now you're just being mean."

* * *

><p><strong>Omake 1:<strong> _Out of Character!_

"Would you believe me that Rachel was our telepath? Or that Hope volunteered to be on the field team? And that Emma did all the weight lifting?"

Scott shook his head in disbelief. "I'd say the world ended while I was sleeping."

"Oh it did." Illyana pointed out. "_Twice_."

"I—_I see_."

"I didn't do this for free, of course."

"…what are your demands?"

"There was one woman I couldn't convince despite my best efforts." Illyana stated. "She was to fulfill an important role in my team."

"Dare I ask _who_ and _for what_?"

"You can." Illyana bluntly answered his rhetoric. "I wanted Ruby because, as you well know, every _index team_ needs _the chick_ or, in my case, its counterpart." She sniffed in dismay. "There's just _too_ much estrogen where I work."

Scott turned his gaze upwards and shed a silent tear.

He was glad to be born a man.

-0-0-0-

**Omake 2: **

_"This is about Kitty freaking out and cutting her honeymoon short because Magik sent pictures of herself and Scott in Vegas, isn't it?" _

_- FluffyCyclopsRLZ_

Not even the vacuum of space could drown the universe-shattering cry of one slighted Katherine Pryde-Quill.

"_DAMN YOU SUMMERS_!"

"What is it now, dear?" The man known as Star-lord asked his new wife.

"Illyana sent me pictures of herself and Scott in Vegas!" Kitty screamed.

"Let me see." Peter said and scooted closer to the brunette and her cellphone. The first picture he saw was one of the two mutants in question posing before a movie poster showing _Avengers: Age of Ultron_. "I don't see the problem."

"Of course you don't." Kitty spat. "They're going to a movie house! _Everybody knows what goes on in a movie house!_"

"They're gonna watch a movie with a full crowd?" Peter hazarded a guess.

"No! They'll—_those _two are going to do—you know, _naughty things_." Kitty appeared to lose fire towards the end but, instead, gained a blush. "A-anyway! Look at the next one!"

Peter swiped across the screen and analyzed the next picture. In it, Scott and Illyana were dressed conservatively as a priest and a nun. Surrounding them were more people dressed up in various costumes, some of which he could identify while others he had no clue. "Oh. Is this that cosplay-thing that's all-the-rage in Earth?"

"Yes! And I can't believe those two would be so obvious!"

"…you lost me."

Kitty glared at her husband. "It's quite clear they're planning on getting married!" She exclaimed. "The only way they could be any more obvious is if Scott was wearing a Slave Leia outfit!"

Peter cringed at the image his mind conjured. "Not a good picture, _Katherine_, and don't you mean Illyana?"

"No." Kitty shook her head adamantly. "Submissive doesn't suit her."

He swiped the screen again and cringed when his wife screeched.

"They're sleeping in the same room?!"

Peter swiftly tried to placate his exploding wife. "There are two separate beds, dear."

"I can't believe they're sleeping in the same room!" Kitty continued her tired, ignoring her husband. "That's it! Peter, you will ready the transporter while I get changed! We are heading to Vegas before my best friend commits the greatest mistake of her life!"

"But dear-! We're in the middle of our honeymoon-"

The door slid shut.

Left alone on the bed, Peter Quill raised his head up towards…well, the heavens. "Yup. Should've realized the X-Men were crazy, but _no_, I just had to propose..."

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN:_** Was lurking in the Batman corner of the CBR forum when the term "Honeymoon Holocaust" was thrown. This was conceived after much chuckles later.

Cyke's next wife was written ambiguously since she's not the point of this parody. She could be Emma. She could be Lady Thor. Hell, she could be the Phoenix _and _the Void. Whoever she is, she still don't matter in the presence of Magik's awesome.

…I want to finish that DC fanfic I was writing, but thanks to FFNet's bot, I fear that'll never happen. _Le sigh_…

Couple of notes:

- Bastardized the "Scott is a brain-damaged mutt"-thing from _Darth Fluffy_. It's incredibly apt and so I couldn't resist adding it in that line.

- Bless TVTropes for Omake 1.

- While writing Omake 2, I totes had the image of Kitty being the _Hibiki Ryoga_ to Scott's _Saotome Ranma_. Huehuehuehue~


	12. Crossing the Mountain

**_A/N:_** Poor transition 'cause I stopped GAF after five days of on-off writing. Be warned: closing A/N is a wall of text!

* * *

><p><em>Crossing the Mountain<em>

* * *

><p>To her credit, she had patiently waited.<p>

Just as the locals said, the trek to the sanctum was far. It was a quiet journey, and she arrived at her destination without incident. After being welcomed and ushered into the garden, the waiting earnestly began.

That had been an hour ago by Earth's standard, and her tea was long gone.

Idly, the traveler wondered why she was here in the first place. Following a trail of gossip, she discovered this sacred ground the Kree created in the outskirts of the capital. It was, as the gossip described, _a place where one found themselves_.

The redhead would have scoffed at the thought in her youth. At the time, she was certain of who she was and what she was meant to do… _and then she had grown up_.

_That_ was a very confusing and trying time.

It was a normal stage in development to lose oneself, apparently. The years had been humbling; she wasn't so sure of herself anymore—especially when she found that all who had once been beside her were gone. Loneliness became her only companion when she reached adulthood.

She thought to blame everyone for abandoning her, only to realize that this was yet another normal part of life. In truth, they were there for her when she needed them; they just weren't waiting on her anymore.

Unknown to her, she was given independence and she had no clue what to do with it. After years of people doting on her, and her struggling to prove she should be past such doting, the sudden lack of companionship was jarring.

Such was growing up, she supposed.

That was years ago. She had grown; she was less lost; she was more experienced.

Now, she was just waiting to be called.

The door opened, and a Kree woman dressed in white and green robes beckoned her.

"Smith will see you now."

She stood, flattening the nonexistent creases on her clothes before combing through her wavy red locks with her fingers in a last-ditch attempt to look presentable—a feeling that continued to be foreign despite all reassurances otherwise.

Her ritual somewhat placating her nervous self-image, she quickly followed the Kree woman.

They did not travel far. The sanctum was not an overly massive structure like she had imagined. It was just right—quaint, its architecture a rustic majesty that made the pristine halls feel warm and sacred. They walked through the carpeted path in silence.

Upon turning a corner, the Kree lead her to a door before stepping to the side. She urged her inside the room with a warm gesture.

"Smith waits for you inside." She said with a slight bow.

"Thank you." The traveler replied with a grateful nod of her own before striding past the Kree.

The first thing she noticed when she entered was how small the room was. Light streamed through the open window and illuminated a lone chair by the screen. A small table stood next to the chair, and atop it a glass and a pitcher of, she assumed, water.

Inwardly, she frowned. The place seemed to be a larger confession booth _but_—she thought with relief—it offered anonymity.

Subconsciously, she rubbed her eyes.

"Please sit." A smooth and masculine voice urged her warmly, and she acquiesced. He gave her a moment to settle herself before he introduced, "I am called Smith—as in one who creates. A _scripter._"

His voice was accented differently, albeit minutely, from the traditional Kree tongue, though she supposed that was no longer unusual. Even taking into account the _Inhuman's occupation many years back_, much had changed since Earth's _Great Expansion_ and the subsequent _Galactic Unification_, after all. In fact, it was the immigrants from Earth that lead her to this quiet sanctum.

"That's good to know." She commented, all traces of nervousness gone. Inwardly, she rolled her eyes at the archaic wordiness of the Kree. "So what _do_ you create?"

"Words." He replied, and she could hear the cryptic smile in his voice. "_Stories_."

"Stories?" The traveler skeptically asked, rubbing her disbelieving eyes with the back of her hand.

"Yes. Everyone has a story. I create their text—and it is my job to store them."

"Ah, like a historian." She concluded, nodding to herself. Their reality was truly vast—filled with strange cultures and jobs. "How long have you been at this?"

"It feels longer, at times."

"Oh? Tell me a story." She suddenly declared.

"I cannot divulge much without consent."

"But you can divulge _something_." The redhead pressed. Maybe it was the desire for conversation that drove her or maybe it was wanting something in exchange for her giving him her story; she really couldn't tell why she asked something so vague, but she did. "Where I'm from, we call this an exchange. Tell me about the woman outside—that Kree nun you have."

"A Kree?" The man behind the screen-wall sounded. He was amused by her description, the woman could tell, but _why_? He was silent for a moment, likely contemplating her offer. "She's a Skrull." He finally said.

"A Skrull?" She parroted disinterestedly. What was so special about that mention? "That's not so—_wait,"_ The traveler cut herself when realization hit her. "-didn't the Kree almost drive the Skrulls into extinction?"

"Yes." He affirmed in satisfaction. "One might also say the Shi'ar harbor the same level of hostility against mutants, but look where those two races are now."

"On separate planets?" Her jovial quip never betrayed the laps her heart ran at his casual mention of her people. Did this man _know_?

"A treaty of nonaggression and mutual growth." He clarified with a short chuckle. "That, in itself, is another story."

"But back to the Skrull?" She prompted before they could digress further. "I notice you never gave me her name."

Even stranger, the Skrull woman never gave hers even when she introduced herself.

"She gave up her life for the Majesdanian she loved. Upon bringing peace between their two races, she returned only to find that the Majesdanian had already married another woman."

"…It's like a bad rom-com without the com." She stated flatly, brushing her red locks behind an ear to relieve herself of the irritation the story brought forth.

Smith chuckled at her analysis. "Indeed, isn't it? But that is her story." The way he spoke sounded like he was concluding their digression; she inhaled deeply and waited. "Now, back to you—what story will you give me?"

"I'm not sure where to start…" She softly admitted while rubbing an eye.

Where does one begin a tale as colorful as hers? Her pilgrimage throughout the many galaxies had only proven to her that no planet produced as much oddities as her home planet.

"Starting with your name is always a good place." The Smith kindly offered. "One's name tells a lot about oneself."

"I guess…" She trailed, unconvinced but still willing to try. She had traveled this far, after all. "I am called Hope." The woman identified in the same manner the Smith did. With her knowledge of alien cultures was still lacking, she thought it would be best to copy. "As in, one that brings salvation to the despaired."

There was a pause after her declaration, and Hope wondered if she had offended the Smith with her imitation. Just as she was about to offer an apology, his wizened voice returned with a question, "And do you?"

"I'm working on that." Hope shrugged and relaxed on her seat once more. Her eyes took on a contemplative light as she reminisced out loud, "But I'm not sure I was named for that role. I got my name from… a woman my dad loved; a woman that loved me when I was a kid; a woman who… _whose_ face I can't even remember anymore."

"You fear your name is not your own?"

"Not anymore." Hope explained. "I used to think my dad only named me _Hope_ in her memory, but now I know better." Roses blossomed on her cheeks as she recalled her childhood tantrums with much embarrassment. "_Still,_-" She intoned a tad more forcefully after her brief pause. "-I exist because she did. I'm her legacy—the proof she existed…"

"You must have loved her."

"I like to think I did." Hope sheepishly admitted while rubbing her eyes. "I can't really remember because it's been so long…"

More than two decades, in fact. Whenever she thought of the woman of her namesake, Hope recalled sunshine and, more vividly, red hair—_red_ as the blood that engulfed her when she was murdered.

"You seem troubled." The Smith's comment wrenched her from her dark recollection.

"You could tell?" She quipped, this time without any jovialness to her tone. It was a defense mechanism deeply ingrained into her—pressing on the attack when she found herself weakened. Maturity could not completely abolish her habit, though it did allow her to control the way it manifested. "Tell me, are these screens one-way?" She asked before delivering three loud and sharp knocks on the wall.

"Your anonymity is ensured so be at ease." Her listener kindly replied.

Hope shrugged. "Well, you're a better empath than I thought."

"I've had my years." He said. "And those years had their years."

"Yeah?" Hope nodded. She didn't find it at all difficult to trust the Smith. "I've had my own years on years, too. It's… kinda _why_ I'm here."

"I see." He murmured, and she heard him shift on the other side. "Would you like to tell me more?"

"Alright."

And so she did.

She told him of her childhood—jumping into the future and dodging bullets with only a gruff and aging soldier as both father and friend.

She told him of her return—all the death, all the sacrifice, and all the hopes and dreams she was supposed to carry.

She told him of the turning point—of believing in her own righteousness and abandoning her family.

She told him of the aftermath—finding out that the normalcy she had craved for ceased being fulfilling, and she threw herself back into a life of running and gunning, eventually reuniting with her gruff old man.

She told him of the carnage—all the blood that followed her dying father as he struggled to revive her after a horrific injury, and the rift that grew between her and her beloved old man.

She told him of everything that came after. The carnage only continued; regret only deepened.

Why did she do the things she did?

What made her so self-assured?

When did her world become even more complicated?

Who did she become?

Where would she go now?

She rubbed her weary eyes.

With every story she told, Hope began to see more of herself. She began to see things how differently she could have handled matters but, alas, such was the fallacy of hindsight. It was only so clear because an outcome had already manifested.

Still, her reflection was not in vain. A spark had lit up in her mind; a candle burned in her stomach.

She could not name it exactly, but Hope felt like she was about to reach an answer.

"Sometimes, I can't believe all the things I said and did." She confessed, ending her tales. Embarrassment no longer colored her features—not when she had already shared a lot of herself with the Smith.

"You were young. Stupid. _Selfish_. It is not so bad." The Smith comforted her when her anecdotes finished. "One storyteller once said that it is better to be young and foolish rather than remain foolish when old."

"And how _old_ is old?"

"It is difficult to say in these times." Honestly, who truly knew how long one might live now? "Still, that same storyteller goes on to say that foolishness prior to the age of twenty-five can be blamed on family; foolishness past that can only be blamed on oneself."

_Family_.

Hope blinked and her body ignited at the spoken word. Flames surged within her; her breathing grew fast and labored, and she had to remind herself to _breathe_.

_That_ was the feeling; the release her body desperately yearned.

_Family_!

The Smith once more startled her with his empathy.

"What is it you wish for now?"

"I wish…" She glanced at the man behind the wall sharply. Her mind could see him, now; the revelations seemed to unlock something within her and absolute certainty had taken hold of her. "I wish to make my family whole." She told him softly, and reached out. The screen between them shook. "Smith… _Scott_, won't you come home with me?"

"…."

"It _is_ you, Scott." Hope pressed, a giddy smile contorting her face goofily. "I can tell, you know? And yet… who would have thought we'd bump into each other in a place like this, right?"

The world… _their_ world was truly a strange and marvelous serendipitous place.

Decades since they last met and light-years between them; how abysmal was the chance of this occurrence?

And yet, it happened.

A _miracle_.

What she was feeling—_this_ rush was truly the joy of the miracle of meeting.

"_Hope…_" The Smith—_Scott Summers_ started, bringing her thoughts back to the present. His tone was no longer the sagely voice he used. It was perplexed; more than that, it was old and weary, but it was unmistakably the tone of the Scott she remembered. "How did you know?"

"Familiarity, mostly, but you forget the ability I hold. Your eyes made mine tingle." She told him, _rubbing her watery eyes_. Her heart began to slow from its frantic drum as excitement gave way to solemnity. "It's strange—when I spoke with you, when you comforted me… it's just like before, you know? Even when you started talking cryptically like the Kree, I just _knew_ it was you."

"_Before_ was so long ago."

"See what I mean? Just like a Kree." Hope nodded to herself and surmised, "You must have been here for a long time, Scott. You must have been lonely here…" she trailed, her eyes pleading with him through the wall that separated them, "…so please, won't you come home with me?"

"Hope…" _Her heart fell._ "I _am_ home."

"Your family isn't here." She reasoned.

"My home _isn't_ there."

"Can't you come home with me? Can I be selfish once more?"

"Hope, I have a life here."

She closed her eyes.

Those words pained her. They were words she could not refute.

Years and light-years later, it was only natural that Scott would find new life.

She was an adult now. She could no longer force matters as she used to.

"Scott, I…" She tried. The screen between them shook once more as she pressed her forehead against the cool barrier. "…" Hope pressed her eyes shut. This was _too_ bittersweet and she hated it. She wasn't supposed to _be_ like this.

Inhaling sharply, the woman forced a smile. "Will I see you again?"

"Of course." His simple answer felt like sunlight breaking an eternal storm. "You know where I live."

"I'm departing today, Scott." Hope told him. "I'm returning to my home in the moon."

"Earth's moon?"

"Of course, you silly Kree." She snorted happily. "My journey was long but… _but I think I can continue it anew_."

"I won't wish you a safe trip." Scott said, and the screen shook between them. "You will never learn anything by playing safe. Instead, I wish you happiness."

She stood up and _breathed_.

It felt like her first true breath in so long.

"Take care of yourself, old man." She teased him, rubbing the joyous tear from her eye. "Come visit us sometime."

-0-0-0-

It would be years before they next met. As was the circumstance, light-years were between them. Still, they kept in touch about as often as a grandchild did with their grandparent.

On one summer day, she had invited him to the Summers family villa she owned on the Blue Are of the Moon, long-since terraformed for habitation.

Scott had declined.

Despite the heaviness Hope felt, she didn't press any further. He was a grown man so much _older_ and just _maybe_ wiser than her; she was sure he had reasons for declining a family reunion.

It was why she was gobsmacked when she had to put her game of darts against her uncle Nate—who was an incredibly proficient _cheater_ despite his vehement denials of using his tk—and answered the front door.

He looked older than she remembered.

Though the years were kind to him, his hair, combed neatly, sported a lot more white than brown. Straight lines ran across his forehead, while curved ones curled at the sides of his lips. His frame—at least, what she could see from his indistinct sleeveless jumper over his baggy dress shirt—was somewhat stockier than his traditional _slim_ appearance.

She might not have recognized this aged man if they met on the streets—that is, of course, if they should meet without his telltale ruby-quartz shades.

"You look beautiful, _Hope_." He complimented her. His words were less stiff now.

They were much warmer than she recalled—but then again, she could not recall the mundane from her growing years. It was unfortunate, but a colorful life only meant that the vibrant colors stood out from those of warmer hues.

"_Hey there, old man._" She smiled at him—and felt both awkward and comfortable at the same time. It was a strange and wonderful feeling, and her delight at his appearance reflected from her eyes.

"A friend dropped by." Scott told her, and Hope instantly knew where his gaze was. She glanced sharply over her shoulder and managed to catch the blonde head of Illyana Rasputin, Ruby's _plus one_, peering from the window behind her before she quickly retreated from their view. If Hope knew the woman right, she was likely claiming her pot from winning a bet she started with a gullible schmuck. "She offered these old bones a ride here."

Illyana had popped in unannounced. He would have proceeded straight to the gathering, but he had to stop by the nearby mall to buy clothes for the occasion. It was only proper, after all.

Hope placed a hand on her hip and shook her head in a slow and cynical manner. "Was that all it took to bring you here? A free trip?"

Scott coughed into his fist—and spoke through it as if hoping it would muffle his embarrassed tone. "I'll have you know that my wages as _Wordsmith_ can barely cover a one-way trans-galactic trip, much less a return."

She gaped at him before hanging her head in defeat. She sighed, "I would have happily bought you a ticket, you know. All you had to do was say."

His cheeks flushed. "…I'll remember that, next time."

She raised a skeptic brow at him; they both knew he was just being _too_ stubborn to ask. "Guess it runs in the family." She muttered under her breath. Banishing such thoughts, she extended a hand to her _grandfather_. "C'mon, old man. Let's see about fattening those bones s'more."

He took her hand before suddenly frowning.

"Scott…?" She glanced at him in concern.

The aged former leader of the X-Men turned his unhappy gaze towards her. "_…am I really that fat_?"

She could not help it; she sniggered at the unexpected question. At his offended look, she explained,

"Not quite,-" _Hope Summers_ reassured her grandfather, Scott, and, feeling mischievous, teased him conspiratorially, "-but wait 'til you see Nathan!"

Scott stared at the beaming woman before the corners of his mouth twitched. Chuckles rumbled through his chest and Hope's joyous giggles joined it soon after.

They both would treasure the laughter they shared as Hope lead her grandfather to where the rest of the family were happily enjoying the sun and barbeque.

_Summer was truly endless._

* * *

><p><strong><em>Omake:<em>** _Twirk it like…_

"So how _did_ you wind up being a, well, _story-keeper_ in Kree territory?"

"I needed something to occupy my time."

"Yes, which is usually why jobs are important—but you sidestepped the question. I really doubt the Kree posted an ad looking for a story-smith."

"…it started with a drink."

"…huh?"

"I caught up with the Starjammers when I left Earth. We went pub crawling across all the galaxies we stumbled across—all in search of the ultimate beer."

"That's… not so bad."

"Somehow, our drinking buddies always approached me to tell their stories."

"Must've scored a lot, right?"

"…I was almost raped a lot. When I wound up in a bar in Hala, well, things sort-of got out of hand with my drinking buddy-at-the-time." His shudder deepened Hope's interest. "Apparently, everyone loves a man that can listen. _Everyone_."

"So why _did_ you listen?"

"It should have been harmless." Hope stared at him, unconvinced. In an ashamed voice, he relented, "…and there was free beer."

"Why in Kree-space, though?"

"…said drinking buddy provides _lots_ of beer for my services."

Hope shook her head incredulously. _How the mighty have fallen… _"I think she wants to get inside your spandex, Scott."

"I know. I didn't realize that she was trying to get me drunk until much later, though."

"So why didn't you? Was she ugly?"

"No. She was very beautiful, in fact, and she had red hair."

Hope sighed at his last point. Somethings never really changed.

"_But…?_"

"But she kept telling me about the things she wanted to do to me with her hair, and I knew to stay the hell away."

"_Urk_." Hope retched.

"Yeah. On the bright side, I've an answer for one of life's greatest questions: tentacle-play is not exclusively Japanese*."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Omake<em>****: **Cyclops Appreciation

"Hope, what are you doing?" Rachel asked when, on her way from the toilet, she spotted the younger redhead crouched before her computer.

"Processing stuff." Hope absently told her aunt while she was busying fiddling with her work through touchscreen.

Rachel peered over her niece's shoulder. "Who took all these pictures? And why are they all of dad?"

"Ruby and Illyana did, and as for _why_…" Hope stared at her in thought and Rachel chose to patiently await the reply. Moments later, Hope inhaled deeply before continuing, "What I'm about to say is strictly confidential." Hope's green eyes narrowed determinedly. "By no means will this information reach Scott."

"What informa-" Rachel's question never formed as Hope tapped the screen to reveal a website filled with _Scott Summers—_in varying ages and states of _undress_! "_What the hell is this?_" The incredulous aunt demanded of her mischievous niece.

"This is a fan-page." Hope stated proudly. "_Scott's _fan-page."

"_Boys of Summer, DILF Edition_?" Rachel read the heading, aghast.

"It occurred to us that Scott is still single." Hope explained with a nod and candidly declared, "Luckily, he's still got a very sexy bod."

"_He's your grandfather!_" Rachel hissed at the scandalous woman.

"I'm not gonna bend over and take his one-eyed monster." Hope raised her hands in reassurance, oblivious to her aunt's incoherent stammering. She would have been offended at the insinuation had she not understood where Rachel was coming from. "But I'm sure some lady out there wants to—she just doesn't know about it yet." At her aunt's conflicted countenance, Hope calmly argued, "Look, do you want Scott to remain a lonely widower forever or do you want him to have someone keep him company into his old age?"

_That_ finally won Rachel over and Hope saw her shoulders relax.

_So long as Scott was happy…_

Still, Rachel felt it prudent to warn the younger woman, "…The _Phoenix_ won't be too thrilled with you for this, you realize."

Rachel was perplexed by Hope's dismissive scoff.

"We've got a relationship of mutual disdain." Hope waved off the catastrophic threat with casual disinterest. "What do I care if it hates me even more?"

Rachel had to chuckle at that. "_Oh, you…_"

As the two women continued their plotting, it never did occur to them to ask Scott what he wanted for himself.

How did the saying go?

The more things change, the more it stays the same.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN:_** A short _Cyclops & Hope_, set in the future. I guess what started this is my trying to remember what I liked about the X-Men. Bendis pretty much killed all my enjoyment for the franchise—and thus Marvel Comics as a whole.

There are a few series I am following, of course: Gillen's Siege (_gotta love the cast_), PAD's Future Imperfect (_Ruuuuby!_), and, of course, Hickman's Secret Wars (_so what if Cyclops is 'dead'? That was expected. It's the getting-back-up part that I'm eager for_). Oh, and Young's Little Marvel; _Eye _love little Marvel. Once they end… well, I'll likely drop the Marvel line (_and my interest in it_) entirely.

Back to this story. I was trying to remember what I enjoyed about this franchise, and I stumbled upon one answer: _family_. Each character develops into intimidating but nonetheless astonishing individuals (_obligatory joke: except Bobby!_) in spite of their turbulent backgrounds, but still a family they remained.

I supposed I wanted to explore the concept of family with this story. Who, indeed, was the proverbial _prodigal member _between these two?

Anyway, I then scratched my brains and tried to remember why I used to like Hope (_Spalding!_) Summers—before AvX (_and, y'know, Bendis!_) happened. Beyond all the obvious unlikeable traits (_burn in a ditch, traitor!_), I think I was attracted to Hope's desire for _family_. I loved those quiet moments—heart-to-hearts between her and Nathan, and then her and Scott. In those moments, she helped humanize those two weary soldiers, and I think it humanized Hope as well. And, I suppose, I also enjoyed how she was a badass chick.

Thus, this story. I tried to imagine an older Hope _Spalding_. For her, I pictured a lonely warrior who realized the stupidity of her youth and thus devoted her remaining time to reforming her family.

I think there is a way for writers to make Hope like-able again. They should just, y'know, take her history and spin something like-able out of it. Hope's character is ripe for "growing up" stories but, eh, _status quo_.

In other news, been reading DC Comics again. Caught up with Grayson (_that issue with the baby in the desert! Simply. Beautiful!)_ and Infinite Crisis: Fight for the Multiverse (_and what an amazing book this turned out to be_). I'm still not a supporter of the SM/WW literal "power couple", and I'm still eagerly waiting for the Bat-Clan to reform (_Cassandra, where are you?!_), but for now, at least I'm enjoying what I read. Will have to explore the DC side more, I suppose.

*This is in reference to a discussion my friends and I had. A friend posited that Japanese culture is inherently strange because they were able to create tentacle porn as early as 1814. The challenge he then issued was to name another country with tentacle erotica that _didn't_ get inspiration from Japan. We couldn't, though I did throw China in because of their shared history.


	13. Queen & Princess

_**A/N:** Le sigh_… Playing around with OCs since canon's so shit at the moment.

* * *

><p>Crisis on Infinite Cyclops Daughters:<p>

Queen & Princess

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><p>For all her wariness against the Queen of Limbo, the White Queen had taken surprisingly well to the small reality-traveler and, uncannily, she with her, too.<p>

Indeed, when the small hellspawn was neither attached to their esteemed leader nor resident the blonde demon, she was in the White Queen's presence. Occasionally, they would be seen lounging in the top-deck in the morning. Sometimes, the hellspawn would be seen wearing clothes that were unmistakably _Emma,_ though _only_ somewhat scandalous. There were even instances when the hellspawn would follow the White Queen's lead unquestioningly, a privilege only shared by Magik and Cyclops.

It was strange at first. Many believed Emma Frost to be deathly allergic to all beings below maturity, but proof-contrary stared them in the eyes. Needless to say, there were only two people who did not find it amiss: the hellspawn's parental-counterparts.

Cyclops only shrugged an encouragement while Magik just _stared_.

The Stepford Cuckoos were torn. On one hand, they were exploring their rebellious phase while on the other, they felt threatened that their mother took someone else under her wing—someone who, despite their best efforts, they could not get a read upon. In stark contrast was Ruby who remained aloof throughout it all; it was easy to forget that, beneath her Ruby skin, she was arguably the eldest among those that lived in the base.

It was only when Kitty Pryde once more ran her mouth against the White Queen, and the hellspawn decided to retaliate, did their apparent closeness made itself manifest. Cold eyes colder than ice and sword-in-hand, runic tattoos flaring with vengeful light, there was no mistaking whose blood ran through her veins.

Kitty had been traumatized since then.

More than at the hellspawn, Kitty was frightened by the thought of the hellspawn _being_ another of Emma's hellions. She was frightened by the hellspawn's invincibility, and the White Queen's ability to wield _her_.

And to add to her frustration, Kitty could not understand _why_.

Why Emma, when the White Queen did _nothing_ to endear herself to the hellspawn? Kitty did her best. She tried to probe her thoughts and feelings; tried to mentor her the same way she looked after the _original five plus one_; always made sure to acknowledge her.

That the hellspawn, _Anastasia Rasputin-Summers_, never took to her was an incredible blow to her ego. _This_, after all, was the child of _Illyana Rasputin_, even if from a different reality.

Kitty could not help but wonder about her relationship with Limbo's Queen.

They had made amends, of sorts. It was Illyana, after all, who had offered to house her and her squad when they had left the school. Apart from that one instance, they had never really _talked_. She was busy with her squad, while Illyana was with hers. They never _actively_ sought each other; Kitty found it difficult to make the first move, while Illyana remained unreadable and nonchalant.

The hellspawn's arrival only seemed to complicate matters.

_'Why did things have to be complicated?'_ Kitty Pryde thought with a rueful sigh as she made her way to the mess hall. She had dismissed her squad early, and they all had gone their separate ways. _'It's all Scott Summers' fault.'_ She repeated like a mantra.

It made her feel better.

With lighter steps, she strode through the hallway before abruptly stopping at the entrance of the library. Her eyes sobered at what she saw.

Yellow-orange afternoon light swept past the glass windows and bathed the room with a rustic shine.

At the center of the room, sat on the floor with her white dress spread around her like flower petals, was the hellspawn. In her dainty hands was a book—if Kitty were to guess, she would _still _draw blanks.

Anastasia's brows furrowed, and she turned to the woman behind her.

"What does this passage mean?" The young mutant asked, her voice thinly-lined with accent and filled with regality.

Emma Frost paused, her hands still holding the girl's long and golden hair mid-braid, and glanced at the passage Anastasia held up for her to see.

"_Nought but the Leg remaining to disclose_," Emma murmured whilst she read, "_The site of this forgotten Babylon._"

"_Da_." The young mutant nodded. "It is _strange_."

"It is a poem." Emma patiently supplied. "_Ozymandias_ as written by _Horace Smith_. It tells a tale of the inevitable fall of everything in existence."

"_Fall…_" Anastasia repeated, testing the word. "You mean… _death_?"

Emma smiled at the young girl. "Precisely. Everything that begins will always have an end."

Anastasia shook her head. Her gaze returned to her book—away from Emma's observing blue eyes.

"I will never die for I am different." Anastasia stated. There was no arrogance or conceit in her tone; just a simple and lonely fact.

"Be that as it may," Emma patiently began, and her hands once more continued their caresses through Anastasia's golden hair, "It is your _duty_ to live however you see fit."

"That is vague." Anastasia muttered with a frown that reflected her youth.

Emma chuckled softly, her eyes smiling more than what her lips could express. "My dear, _life_ is incredibly vague. However, as the passage attempts to convey…" Emma's hands stilled and she observed, approvingly, her handiwork. It had been so long since she had done this, and it seemed she hadn't lost her touch. "_Nothing_ will last; not even _you_."

Anastasia glanced at her with questioning eyes. "I do not understand."

"You are long-lived." Emma pointed out, giving another perspective to Anastasia's plight. "That only means you have more time to grow."

The girl processed the woman's words. Reaching a conclusion, she nodded her head and asked, "Stay with me."

Emma tilted her head slightly before reaching out to the child, "Only for so long as I am able." She stated, her blue eyes twinkling like diamonds. "_Only for so long as you are here_." Her words were cryptic— it could have even been construed as manipulative given that it was by the White Queen's silver tongue, but Anastasia understood.

She was a clever young girl, like that.

Satisfied, at least for the moment, Anastasia resumed reading from the poetry book, and her companion, Emma, picked up the book at her side before joining her.

At the doorway, Kitty felt her heart twist.

She could not understand—could not reconcile what she saw from what every bone in her body screamed.

The Hellfire Club's whore and the hellspawn!

_She could not comprehend_.

This place was more twisted than she thought.

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><p><em><strong>AN:**_ More world-building, I suppose.

Took a couple of liberties. While Kitty and co. end up staying with Scott's crew, she hasn't made up with Illyana. I mean, the way UXM v3 handled it was incredibly ham-fisted—pandering to the extreme. Anyway, with this segment, I wanted to explore a mothering Emma as she helps Anastasia come to grips with her immortality. Sorry, not bitch!Emma here; just a teacher with a struggling student.

For those that haven't figured it out, quick bios since I'll likely never finish typing out their stories anytime soon:

_Anastasia Rasputin-Summers_ – alternate reality daughter of Illyana & Scott from a timeline where the X-Men were united and AvX wasn't a fiasco. At the end, the P5 are able to "fix the current problems of the world", but Scott & 'Yana exile themselves to Limbo. Cue _stuff_, and then baby Ana pops out, a juggernaut whose capabilities make Mary Sue envious. She accidentally reality-hops during a skirmish with big bad demons, and decided that she wants a vacation away from her mum's hellish training.

_Eleonora (Maximoff) Summers_ – alternate reality daughter of Wanda & Scott from a timeline where Wanda actually owned up to her shit during Children's Crusade and went on a pilgrimage repowering mutants that wanted their powers back. Utopia disbands for lack of need, Scott ends up traveling with Wanda as he looks for a purpose in life, sexy times happen, and Elle is born. Unfortunately, the curse hadn't been lifted since the Phoenix Force never came, leaving Elle fully human despite having the X gene. The Celestials are pissed at the turn of events, epic battle happens with numerous casualties including Scott, ending with Elle stealing a time-machine so she could figure out why the Phoenix never came. Spoiler: the _child of the universe_ made a mistake.

_Ruby Summers_ – I heart you. Long time.

_On the horizon (i.e. up next):_

Crisis on Infinite Cyclops Daughters:

- S.W.O.R.D. & S.H.I.E.L.D.

- Heretic & Damned


	14. SWORD & SHIELD

_**A/N:**_ Not my best- I blame whatever virus is bugging me (hah, get it?)- but I wanted this out tonight. More on this at the end.

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><p>Crisis on Infinite Cyclops Daughters:<p>

S.W.O.R.D. & S.H.I.E.L.D.

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><p>"<em>Do you want to talk about it<em>?"

Brown eyes snapped at the newcomer in surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"_That._" The blonde tilted her head at the decimated punching bag. Whatever material it was made of, it did not stand a chance against her fists.

The newcomer briefly wondered if she really didn't have any powers.

"Work-out." She replied gruffly, capping her water bottle with a click. "I need to train or I'll lose my edge."

The tall woman was, after all, the only human on campus.

"Right. Anything else you're working out?"

She folded her arms. "…I don't know what you're implying."

"You know who I am, right?" Teasingly, her hands flew to her hips as she struck a mighty pose.

"Alison Blaire. _Dazzler_."

"Yes." She grinned widely at the recognition. "So you know what I can do?"

"Turn sound into a weapon." She answered automatically.

"_Harness_ music." Dazzler corrected. "I mean, yeah, I can use any sound, but without a beat, I just _don't_ feel it. There's no magic."

"Your point?"

"I _feel_ music, Elle." She explained and sat on the open spot at the reality-traveler's side. "And your training was… _angry_. Beautiful, but sad."

Elle stilled, but refused to avert her gaze. "I don't have any reason to confide in you."

"Believe it or not, I _am_ a teacher here." Dazzler told her with a humored smile. "Granted, this place isn't exactly a school, so _mentor_ is probably the better term…"

"And, _what_, you want to mentor _me_?" There was no disdain in her voice; only incredulousness. It was as if the idea was simply silly.

Dazzler shrugged. "I notice you don't hang around with anyone but your family. Well, Scott and Ruby."

"I will not be interrogated." She fired back tightly.

"Is it because you feel guilty assaulting us without thinking?" Dazzler continued, unfazed.

"You're trying to compensate for something." Elle pointed out, cutting through the small talk or whatever it was Dazzler wanted.

"That's probably it, right? You feel _shame_, but you don't know how to express it."

The brunette felt her ire rise, and she fired back, "You screwed up, and now you're doing all you can to make amends."

"You can talk about it, you know?" Alison took the attack with grace. "Whatever's bothering you, it can't be _that_ bad if you're still here."

Elle's face hardened and accused, "That's what you get for being so idealistic!"

Alison felt her melody, and her face softened. "Why do you hate yourself so much?"

"I-!"

Alison slung an arm around her shoulder and brought her close.

"Wh-_what are you doing_!" Elle asked, her brown eyes wide and alarmed.

"You're still so young…"

"_I'm twenty._" Elle answered, but didn't pull away after her initial struggle. "I'm not much younger than you."

But she was infinitely _less_ experienced.

She wasn't the only one that reality-hopped, after all.

"I guess brooding is in the Summers genome, eh?"

"…"

"…you ready to talk?"

"…this is why I _hate_ you S.H.I.E.L.D. agents." Elle murmured. "Always meddling with other people's business. Never following protocol. _Lapdogs_."

"It's called _caring_, Elle." Alison patiently pointed out. "And, _former_ agent, thank you very much."

"Don't be so familiar!" Elle exclaimed, but there was no heat in her words. "You don't even know me."

"I know you're Scott's kid. That's enough to tell me that something horrible went down."

"My father is a _hero_."

"And your mother?"

For the first time since their argument, Elle averted her glare.

"Was it hard? Growing up with Wanda as your mother, I mean."

"How did you—_the Cuckoos_."

"They don't know how to respect other people's privacy."

"They don't know how to respect other people, _period_." Elle muttered with a scowl. "And… _no_. It wasn't hard."

"Even with Magneto as your grandfather? That side of the family is messed up, you realize."

"My grandfather was a hero."

"And your mother…?" Alison pressed, pulling back slightly so she could face the brunette. "Was she a hero, too?"

"I don't want to talk about her."

Instead of taking offense, Alison merely smiled. "So what _do_ you want to talk about?"

"…Did someone set you up for this?" Elle asked in defeat. It seemed she wouldn't be getting out of _this_ confrontation.

Alison shook her head. "Is it so hard to believe that I just want to know more about you?" Elle frowned at her, and Alison softly shook her head. The brunette was _so _paranoid. "I mean, I'm curious about you—and why an agent of S.W.O.R.D. would break protocol to travel all the way here, starting fights where she goes."

"What, the Cuckoos never told?"

"I'm curious about _why_ you would throw away whatever life you had just to be here."

"…I needed answers."

Alison nodded and gently probed, "Why?"

"Because—_because things don't make any sense_."

"I see…" Alison trailed, the light of recognition glowing in her eyes. "You want closure."

Elle's lips flattened, but she did not refute the perceptive mutant's conclusion.

"And… have you found your answer?"

"…_No_."

And that was the crux of it.

It was the straw that broke the camel's back.

She had no game plan; no strategy nor direction.

And she had no closure so her wound continued to bleed.

The loss was taking its toll.

"Speak with Scott."

"I—I _can't_." There was so much pain in her voice, and it frustrated her that she felt _so_ weak. She… Eleonora Summers should have been made of stronger stuff than this!

Alison observed as the young woman beside her was wrought with internal turmoil. The blonde mutant wondered if this was the inherent conflict when two tumultuous bloodlines crossed, but quickly dismissed the idea. She was no geneticist; she was a musician, and it was her job to bring happiness to all those around her.

Angst was not her style.

"Then talk to me." Alison Blaire said, and Elle was almost blinded by how dazzling her smile was. "Talk to me until you're able to talk to Scott."

"..._why_?"

"Because you look like you need a friend." Alison stated, as sure as the sun would always rise. "And we former agents need to stick together, right?"

For the first time since she arrived in this reality, Elle chuckled. It wasn't an overly loud, prolonged, or boisterous sound, but Alison could _feel _it.

Whatever weight brought her down was, at least temporarily, lifted.

Alison Blaire took that as a win.

"You're… _silly_." Elle finally said, her lips flat but soft. The smile was in her eyes—and in that moment, she truly resembled her father.

Not that Elle noticed.

"This is who _we_ are." Alison countered as she stood, offering her hand to the young woman. "We protect. When someone is in pain, we can't turn a blind eye."

She stared at the outstretched hand before, with a small nod, accepting it. "…I still hate you S.H.I.E.L.D. agents."

"Like you S.W.O.R.D. folk are any better." Alison stuck out her tongue while her hands settled on her hips. "Now come. Scott's on breakfast duty again, and I'm _starving_."

With lighter footfalls, the two made their way to the mess hall.

"…

…

…

_…Thanks_."

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><p><em><strong>AN: ** _ Thanks for those that gave feedback to this story!

As some of you may have probably guessed, this "world-building" chapters mainly deals with pairing these OCs with canon characters that resonate with them.

In this edition, I wanted to highlight Dazzler's resilience and radiance. I'm not a musician, but I'd like to think Dazzler's more the feeler rather than the thinker. Where Elle (and Scott) are awkward brooders, Alison speaks her mind and doesn't let her woes paralyze her. Though both Scott and Alison are capable of compassion due to the hardships they went through, in contrast, Alison is more able in expressing herself.

Next, there's Elle: daughter of Cyclops and the Scarlet Witch. She's struggling after loss, conflicted in what to believe in, and frustrated by her weakness. She's spent her years driving herself to be stronger in the wake of having no powers, but despite it all, she still perceives herself to be weak.

Moving forward, I'd have Elle come to terms with herself, with Dazzler assuming the confidante role, culminating with a confrontation with 616!Wanda.

Or something like that.

Send me what you think in a review~

Ugh, this bug's making me feel like crap.

Up next:

Crisis on Infinite Cyclops Daughters: _Heretic & Damned_

(You all know the two who are up next, right?)


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